The Lion and the Lady Fair
by Izzi Creo
Summary: AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister realises that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked and given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges need mending and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** So, here we go. I always find it pretty daunting cracking into a new fandom which is probably why I don't do it much (plus I'm a creature of habit) however I was hit by the writing bug for the first in a long time and this just kind of erupted from that. I am holding _ohmytheon_ entirely responsible. I've only ever written fiction based on TV shows/the occasional movie so writing from a book is equally new, exciting and terrifying. That being said, I am no where near as amazing as the great George R. R. Martin but I hope you'll enjoy regardless. In terms of books vs. television show, I'm kind of erring between them and blending the two together. I'm mainly following the book representation however it would be impossible to not be influenced by _Game of Thrones_ too.

The title is a play on 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter One**

 _A man in dark armour and a pale pink cloak spotted with blood stepped up to Robb._ _"_ _Jaime Lannister sends his regards._ _"_ _He thrust his longsword through her son_ _'_ _s heart, and twisted.  
_ _Robb had broken his word, but Catelyn kept hers. She tugged hard on Aegon_ _'_ _s hair and sawed at his neck until the blade grated on bone. Blood ran hot over her fingers. His little bells were ringing, ringing, ringing as the drum went_ boom doom boom.  
 _Finally, someone took the knife away from her. The tears burned like vinegar as they ran down her cheeks. Ten fierce ravens were raking her face with sharp talons and tearing off strips of flesh, leaving deep furrows that ran red with blood. She could taste it on her lips._

 _-_ Catelyn III, p.133. A Storm of Swords: Blood and Gold

The drum finally ceased as Catelyn Stark took slow, stumbling steps towards her son's body. She sank to her knees and pulled Robb towards her, cradling his head in her lap. His eyes, so blue like her own, were glassy and unseeing. She stroked a palm against his cheek, leaving bloody marks, and wept. "Robb… my Robb…"

At six and ten years he was a man grown but she could still see him as a boy, sparring with a wooden sword, his face full of carefree laughter as Jon Snow met each of his blows. Shortly after his third name day, he had tentatively stepped into their bedchamber and wandered over to where Catelyn lay, a new bundle within her arms. Robb had climbed up beside her on the bed, peered into the sleeping babe's face and placed a solemn kiss upon Sansa's brow. At eleven months old he had taken his first shaky steps and she'd gathered him in her arms, hoisting him into the air whilst exclaiming at his cleverness.

And now he was gone. Like his father, brothers and, most likely, one of his sisters before him. _How did it come to this, Ned?_ She inclined her head towards Robb's and placed her own solemn kiss upon his brow. There were Frey's surrounding her, each one more treacherous than the last, but she paid them no heed. They could kill her and it would matter not.

Heavy boots stamped across the tiled floor, echoing against the stone walls, and rough hands tried to prise her from Robb's body. Catelyn clung to him, her hands and dress turning sticky with his blood and making it difficult for them to gain a hold on her. Someone wrapped thick arms around her waist and heaved but she turned visceral: screaming, kicking and snarling.

"Make an end," she heard someone urge but Lord Walder Frey held up a hand for silence. "No, not this one."

The quarrel that had pierced her through the back was wrenched out and she cried in agony. The fight left her body, replaced with pain, and she sagged against Black Walder whose brute strength kept her standing. His right arm remained around her waist whilst his left hand clasped her wrists together, lest she should attempt clawing at his face like she had her own.

She looked up at Lord Walder through a curtain of auburn hair. Contempt shone raw as she lifted her gaze to meet his which was lit up in greedy pleasure. "It appears that we will now have to refer to your family as The _Late_ Lords of Winterfell, _heh_. Take the Lady Catelyn to her cell."

Black Walder carried her bodily from the Great Hall, her feet stumbling as he marched her passed the numerous bodies. Robb, Smalljon Umber, Dacey Mormont. The pitiful feast that Lord Walder had provided and the little wine that she had drunk was roiling in her stomach. Catelyn tried taking deep breaths through her mouth but the stench of blood and death hung heavy in the air.

Signs of the Frey's treachery were everywhere: puddles of blood seeping between the cracked tiles, dead and dying men slumped in the corridors, bloodied weapons that lay abandoned when a fight had been lost. A hand reached out and desperately grasped the skirts of Catelyn's dress but Black Walder kicked it away impatiently. The sounds of the fighting in the camps outside of the Twins holdfast grew louder and Catelyn knew that Robb's army, drunk and caught unaware, was being slaughtered.

Black Walder dragged her across the entrance hall and towards the sweeping staircase. She was vaguely aware that they were moving in the wrong direction for the dungeons as they ascended the steps. A commotion broke out behind them and Black Walder whirled around, keeping her firmly locked within his embrace. A door that led further into the castle was flung open and a huge, fierce man stumbled backwards into the entrance hall.

The Greatjon spat a great, bloody wad of _something_ out at his pursuers. "Come on, then!" he bellowed. "Who's next, you bloody bastards?"

Several men spilled into the entrance hall, each bearing an arrangement of arms whilst the Greatjon clasped a sword half the size of his normal greatsword. One of the men who Catelyn believed to be Ser Haigh was cradling the side of his head that was bloodied and missing half an ear. One pursuer thrust his blade at the Greatjon who retaliated by driving his stolen sword between the man's ribs. He turned and climbed three steps, gaining higher ground to his foes, but faltered upon seeing her in Black Walder's clutches.

His face crumpled in anguish. The Greatjon thumped his sword hand against his chest and bowed his head respectfully. "My lady."

 _He knows,_ she thought despondently. _If I am here and not with Robb then he knows that his King is dead. And his son with him._

The Greatjon swung around with a furious roar and embedded his sword in the skull of the man creeping up behind him. He attempted to pull the sword free but it wouldn't move. A second enemy ducked beneath his falling comrade and plunged a dagger into the hamstring of the Greatjon. The mighty warrior dropped to one knee and the rest of the fighters wrestled him to the ground.

With the Greatjon defeated, Black Walder continued to drag Catelyn up the stairs and threw a door open before pushing her inside. Her 'cell' was a modest bedchamber with a single cot, an unlit fire and a large window overlooking the swollen Green Fork. Blazing light streamed through the window into the bedchamber.

"See for yourself." Black Walder gestured towards the window.

Slowly, Catelyn crossed the chamber and peered out of the window at the field below. The tents that the Frey's had so generously erected for Robb's army had collapsed, becoming a raging inferno that cast its light upon the massacre. Men were cut down in their cups whilst Stark and Tully banners alike were set afire and trampled on.

She felt Black Walder's presence again as he stepped up behind her and fisted a hand in her auburn hair. Catelyn began to tremble as he inhaled slowly, pressing his face into her tresses. She'd heard the rumours that circled this man like crows at a corpse. Black Walder was known to take what he wanted, by force if necessary, and that included many of his brothers wives.

Gathering her hair in one hand, he threw it over her shoulder before running his fingers along her collarbone. Below, another commotion broke as shouts of 'Here comes the King in the North!' was taken up. Black Walder lifted Catelyn's heavy skirts, finding creamy skin beneath. Hope blossomed in her chest: it may have been too late for Robb and herself but perhaps the Northmen had rallied together. Black Walder took an earlobe between his teeth, suckling the soft flesh. The chanting group made their way beneath the portcullis and onto the field of fire and death.

The sob tore from Catelyn as the light fell upon the group. Robb's body had been propped up on his horse, his head hacked off and replaced with the head of his direwolf, Grey Wind. Catelyn ducked her gaze but Black Walder gripped her chin tightly, fingers biting into her flesh, and forced her to watch as they paraded her son's mutilated body around the camp. His crown of bronze and iron had been crudely set upon Grey Wind's head.

Black Walder leaned in close and whispered, "All hail the Young Wolf."

* * *

It was finally quiet. During the course of the night, the sounds of the massacre had slowly faded into nothingness. The clashing of steel and the whinnying of horses had been the first to die, followed by the crackle of the raging fires and lastly, the screams of the dying men. Catelyn lay beneath the window, curled in on herself as the cold from the tiles seeped into her bones. She doubted whether she would ever feel warmth again.

 _My husband is dead. My sons are all dead. Arya is most likely dead and Sansa is married to the Imp. My husband is dead. My sons are all dead. Arya is most likely dead and Sansa is married to the Imp. My husband is dead. My sons_ _—_

The bolt was drawn noisily and the heavy oaken door of her cell pulled open. Catelyn hoped it wasn't Black Walder returning; he'd kept their vigil by the window the previous night until he'd grown bored and dropped her to the floor. She was yet to move.

Ever since Ned's death she'd been tamping her grief down to remain strong for her eldest son as he carried the heavy burden of being King in the North. Who was she remaining strong for now? In little less than a year she had lost most of her family and the grief was finally consuming her.

Gentler hands than Black Walder's pulled Catelyn to her feet. Three of Lord Walder's daughters stripped her of her clothing that was black and stiff with blood. They avoided her gaze as they dipped cloths into a pail of freezing water and scrubbed her clean. One of the daughter's poured wine over her shoulder and wiped the blood away from where the quarrel had hit, burning away any infection. The wine stung but Catelyn made no sound. Whilst her shoulder was bandaged, another daughter brushed her hair through and deftly plaited it down her back. They dressed her in a simple gown that was too short at the ankles and wrists but too large everywhere else.

Once finished, the three daughters left the bedchamber with averted eyes whether through shame, disinterest or anger she would never know. Ser Edwyn Frey stood in the doorway, one hand on the pommel of his sword and the other clenched in a tight fist. His mouth was set in a grim line, his split lip a vivid red scab. Catelyn's fingers itched to hit him again.

"This way, my lady."

Catelyn mustered all of her strength and walked from the bedchamber with her back ramrod straight and her head held high. Inside she was lost, broken and grief-stricken but outwardly she was cold, calm and dignified. Ser Edwyn walked behind her but she didn't need his guidance to know where their destination would be.

The Great Hall had already been scrubbed clean, leaving no evidence of the butchery that had occurred a few short hours ago. Lord Walder was sat in his high, intricately carved seat, a gleeful, self-satisfied expression adorning his face, whilst the Lord of the Dreadfort, Roose Bolton, stood impassively by his side. He still wore his pink cloak, stained with blood, and the longsword that had stolen her son's life hung at his hip. Catelyn walked slowly down the centre of the hall towards them. She willed her body to betray none of her inner turmoil, even as voices whispered in her mind and the ghosts descended upon her.

 _You are Catelyn Stark (My husband is dead.), the Lady of Winterfell (My sons are all dead.), and mother to the King in the North (Arya is most likely dead and Sansa is married to the Imp)._

"Lady Stark, I trust you enjoyed last nights festivities, _heh_." Lord Walder took a long, slurping gulp from his goblet and studied her over the rim. She didn't flinch but met his cruel gaze. His eyes cut to Lord Bolton who pulled a piece of parchment from an inner pocket of his doublet and passed it to the aged Lord of the Crossing. Lord Walder gave an ostentatious clearing of the throat and read, " _Roslin caught a fine fat trout. Her brothers gave her a wolf pelt for her wedding._ Not bad, I'd say: rather poetic, _heh_. This will be sent straight to King's Landing where the news will spread that House Frey and House Bolton dutifully destroyed the rebellion."

Catelyn wanted to ask whether it was duty that inclined them to behead her son's corpse and sew his direwolf's head on its shoulders. She held her tongue though and stared at him unwaveringly. She would not forget this. The North would not forget this.

Lord Walder gave a grand, single clap of his hands and Ser Edwyn gripped her upper arm before marching her closer towards his great-grandfather. The Frey patriarch allowed his watery eyes to roam over her hungrily as he licked his lips and gave her a lecherous grin.

"Fear not, Lady Stark, for you still have quite the part to play yet."


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** Here's chapter two; I hope you enjoy! As this story overlaps with the storylines of the books, you may find that some sections look familiar but they have certainly been re-written for the use of this story.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Two**

Lord Tyrion Lannister had never seen the king quite so giddy before. It was unnerving. Tyrion waddled into the Small Council chamber and took a seat at the table that was already occupied by his Lord Father and Hand to the King, Tywin Lannister; sister and Queen Regent, Cersei; and their uncle Ser Kevan Lannister. The lack of the Spider and the Grand Maester Pycelle told him that this was not a mere Small Council meeting. The king fluttered behind his mother's chair, grinning.

"Well, this must be quite the occasion," Tyrion stated, looking from one face to the other. "Let me guess: Lannister family reunion?"

They ignored his jest.

"Robb Stark is _dead_ ," King Joffrey delightedly informed him. He gestured to a crumpled roll of parchment that lay on the table and Tyrion took it with growing trepidation.

" _Roslin caught a fine fat trout. Her brothers gave her a wolf pelt for her wedding,_ " Tyrion read aloud. "Signed Lord Walder Frey. May I ask how long this plot has been cooking?"

Tywin narrowed his eyes at his youngest, deformed son. "I do not appreciate that word."

"Oh, I am sorry, dear Father. Would you prefer stratagem? Conspiracy? Scheme?"

"What does it matter?" Joffrey burst in petulantly. "The point is: he is _dead_."

"How?" Tyrion asked.

"Slew by Lord Frey's sons at Edmure Tully's wedding feast," Ser Kevan announced. "The majority of his army has been destroyed too."

Lord Tywin remained as grim-faced as ever; it was as if Robb Stark's demise was not the much-anticipated outcome that the Lannister's had eagerly awaited. _Nearly_ all of the Lannister's. A knot formed in Tyrion's stomach as he thought of his wife, Sansa Lannister née Stark, who he had ever so slowly been making progress with.

It was for Sansa that he asked, "And the Lady Catelyn?"

"Alive and a hostage taken by Walder Frey," Lord Tywin answered. Tyrion couldn't deny the surge of relief that swept through him: how could he have explained to Sansa that, as well as her father, her lord husband's family had also been responsible for the murders of her brother and mother? It would be bad enough explaining about Robb, but her mother too…

"Not for much longer," Joffrey stated, eager and malicious. "I want her head. I'm going to serve them both to Sansa at my wedding."

"You will do no such thing," Lord Tywin cut in sharply. The room was startled but none more so than Tyrion who had been a breath away from admonishing his nephew, himself — as was often the case. Tywin continued relentlessly, "It it time for you to set aside these petty cruelties and rule as a king, not a boy."

Joffrey gave his grandfather a sulky glare. "You forget yourself, Grandfather. _I_ am the king. I can do as I please and I decree that I want Lady Stark to answer for the crimes committed by herself, her husband and her son. I will cut off her traitor's head."

Joffrey had red blotches on his cheeks from his little outburst but already he seemed to be deflating beneath Tywin's cold stare. "You already cut off one man's head against the wishes of your advisors and it near tore this county apart. Eddard Stark has answered for his crimes with blood, as has his son. The Riverlands are still in open defiance and it will not take long for the Northmen to rally together again once they learn of what has passed at the Twins."

"But their army is depleted," Joffrey pointed out stubbornly. "We have Casterly Rock, High Garden _and_ Dorne. How could the Riverlands and what's left of the North possibly rally against us?"

Tywin drummed his fingers against the surface of the table. "How many kingdoms are there in Westeros?"

Joffrey narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Seven."

"And which is the largest?" Tywin pressed.

"The North."

"Precisely: the North. Do you know how much larger the North is in comparison to the other kingdoms?" Silence prevailed and the red blotches rose in Joffrey's cheeks again, mingled embarrassment and fury. Tyrion watched his nephew flounder and felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction; it was about time the cruel boy-king met the biggest bully in Westeros. "The North is larger than _all_ of the other kingdoms combined," Tywin continued sharply. "If you are to rule the country then you should know and understand the country."

Tywin turned away from his furious grandson and addressed the others in the Small Council hall. "We are quite possibly the most hated family in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. The Starks were well-loved, honourable, and had a sympathetic course. Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire," Tywin warned. "The Blackfish still holds Riverrun. Even with Edmure Tully and Catelyn Stark as hostages, it does not guarantee his cooperation. The surviving Riverlords are ambivalent: do they avenge their liege lord or bow to the will of Casterly Rock?"

"So how do you propose stopping the mean little Blackfish from rallying these lords together and marching them straight on King's Landing?" Tyrion asked.

"Simply: I will marry Lady Stark and _she_ will sue for peace."

* * *

They had been travelling for many days and still Catelyn did not know their destination. The morning after 'The Red Wedding', as she'd heard some of Lord Walder's men crudely call it, she had been bundled into a wooden, horse-drawn carriage and sent from the Twins. The carriage had a hard bench, a single barred window and a bolted door: it was essentially a cell on wheels. For days she had heard the sound of the rushing Green Fork and knew that they were travelling South but it was too much to hope that they were returning her to Riverrun.

They'd left the river behind long ago and still continued journeying South. Her hands were bound and the shackles had chafed her wrists raw but the pain was barely noticeable compared to the empty ache in her chest. Her escort gave her skins of water, scraps of food that went untouched and allowed her to relieve herself twice a day, becoming a monotonous routine. Alone in her confinement, Catelyn sat propped against the wooden wall and allowed the sway of the carriage to soothe her. Awake she wondered why she was alive and asleep she dreamt of the moment Robb was murdered.

It was the smell that alerted Catelyn to where her entourage was heading. It started slowly, assaulting her senses as it gradually swelled into an almighty stench that would forevermore be recognisable. She did not need to look out of the window to know that they were approaching King's Landing. Her stomach dropped as Lord Walder's words returned to her: _"Fear not, Lady Stark, for you still have quite the part to play yet."_

Images of kneeling on the Great Sept of Baelor's steps, as Ned had done, awaiting her execution flooded her mind. She was a traitor, the wife and mother of traitors, so would she meet a traitor's end?

The carriage rolled through the city slower than it had on the King's Road as it waited for the crowded streets to part. The sounds of the city rose around her but Catelyn could barely hear it over the blood thudding in her ears. She felt sick with mounting perturbation but there was nothing in her stomach to bring up.

Finally, her transport rolled to a stop and the door was unbolted. Light flooded through the opening and Catelyn stepped down from the carriage, onto the sunlit courtyard of the Red Keep. Four members of the City Watch exchanged a tightly rolled parchment for her and she was thus no longer a captive of the Frey's. The Goldcloaks marched her through the castle and towards the Tower of the Hand which she remembered from her few brief stints at court as a child. Her mouth went dry as she thought of how this was where Ned had last lived before his imprisonment and execution. Her mind consumed with Ned, she barely took note of the journey she was being led on until suddenly she was stood in the centre of the Hand's solar.

Tywin Lannister sat regally behind his desk. He studied Catelyn through green eyes, flecked with gold, that were cool and unforgiving. The ill-fitting gown hung off of her thin frame and the dark, roughspun wool contrasted sharply against her pale complexion. She tried hard to hide it but Tywin recognised defeat in her and it was a striking juxtaposition to the woman he remembered and whom Jaime had described: proud, confident and fierce.

Tywin nodded to the shackles around her wrists. "We will have no more need for those," he said brusquely. A Goldcloak stepped up to remove them and Catelyn resisted the urge to rub her chafed wrists, loathe to admit weakness in Lord Tywin's presence. "Leave us," he commanded and the Goldcloaks filed out of the solar.

The silence stretched on but Catelyn met his gaze unwaveringly. Tywin finally began, "You are probably wondering why you have been brought here."

"Are not all those accused of treason brought to the Red Keep?" Catelyn's voice was hoarse with disuse but it did nothing to soften the defiant bite in her tone. Her back stiffened ever so slightly and she grew emboldened. "I do not appreciate being toyed with, my lord. If I am to be imprisoned then send me to the dungeons; if I am to die then be done with it."

"It appears your bravery is certainly not lacking, though it may be considered reckless and foolish, my lady. Or would it be _your Grace_?" Tywin said, a trace of amusement lilting his tone.

Anger rose in her and it felt deliciously sweet, burning through her veins. It was the first emotion she could truly remember experiencing since Robb's death. She drew herself up to her full height and her voice was deadly calm, "Do not make a mockery of me, my lord."

"House Stark made a mockery of itself by donning a crown and marching on the South," Tywin snapped impatiently. "Eddard Stark's execution was an unfortunate circumstance—"

"'Unfortunate circumstance'?" she repeated disbelievingly. "Is that how you excuse your grandson's behaviour? From what I hear his cruelty rivals even that of the Mad King."

"And yet he _is_ your King!" Tywin thundered, rising from his seat and pushing his palms into the surface of the desk. At his full height, his stance was impressive but Catelyn refused to back down. "Do not forget, Lady Stark, that it was _you_ who started this war. _You_ arrested Tyrion when you had no right to. _You_ forced my hand in retaliation. _You_ set in motion the events that would lead to the death of your family."

"I arrested Tyrion because I believed there was firm evidence implicating him in the attempted murder of my injured son." Catelyn met his blazing temper unashamedly. "Injured because Ser Jaime, _your_ son the Kingslayer, flung him from a window, as he has already admitted to me. Do not think House Lannister blameless in all that has come to pass."

Silence stretched between them once more as they each glared at the other. Tywin bit back his frustration, knowing that this battle of wills would not gain a favourable outcome for either of them. He exhaled slowly, vaguely surprised that he had lost his temper, and relaxed his posture so he was standing upright. "There is no denying that both of our Houses have committed wrongs."

Anguish flitted across Catelyn's face but she held it at bay. When she spoke, her voice was softer, "And yet it is my family who has suffered for those wrongs."

 _My husband is dead…_ Catelyn turned away from Tywin and wrapped thin arms around herself. She stared into the depths of the fire as her composure began to crumble. She may not have been the Catelyn Stark that Tywin had expected but that didn't mean she wasn't still there: he'd seen the furious flush creep up her neck and heard the cutting passion in her words as she verbally sparred with him.

"I never wanted my son to be king."

Her admission was soft, a silk pillow or a lover's sigh. "Then you should have stopped him," he countered curtly.

"How?" she turned to face Tywin, unshed tears rising unbidden in her eyes. "How do you prevent a boy from being elected king? His men placed the crown on his head and he honoured their choice."

"Honour has never been lacking in your family," Tywin said, not unkindly, "but honour can lead to reckless stupidity. The North and the Riverlands are weak but they will be honour-bound to avenge their king unless you can convince them otherwise." He stared directly into her blue eyes. "I propose that you sue for peace and, to prove your loyalty to the crown and demonstrate your willingness to forgive the past, marry me."

A look of horrified indignation filled Catelyn's face. "No. No, I won't do it."

"Don't be a fool," Tywin urged. "This country is in ruins; half of the North is conquered by the Ironborn, Stannis Baratheon attempts to rebuild his force, it is rumoured that Mance Rayder marches a Wildling army on the Wall and the Riverlands are in uproar. You have the power to prevent further loss of lives but only if you help unite the country against its other enemies."

"And in the process forget Robb?" she asked bitterly.

"I cannot bring your son back to you. Nor will I apologise for destroying a dangerous enemy," Tywin told her firmly. He fixed her with his unrelenting stare and she gazed back at him with crippling agony.

"He was just a boy."

"All men are boys in their mothers eyes." His tone gentled, "Reconsider my offer, Lady Stark. If you refuse then what punishment do you think King Joffrey will demand? Do you really wish for Sansa to witness another parent executed for treason?"

At the mention of her last living child, Catelyn's eyes closed as though in pain and Tywin felt the triumph bleed through him. There was a reason Family succeeded Duty and Honour in the House Tully words. Sansa had been his winning hand revealed.

"Fine," she eventually conceded, flatly. "I will marry you. I will sue for peace. I will be your wife. But I will _never_ forgive the past."


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I try to reply to reviews as much as possible - although it may take me a while because I have awful organisation skills! - so I just wanted to express my thanks to the anon reviews who have been leaving such kind words of encouragement. Now, on with chapter three.

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Three**

The bedchambers granted to Catelyn were airy, spacious and finely decorated but this did nothing to alleviate the bitterness of imprisonment. Two handmaidens also accompanied the quarters but Catelyn disliked each of them. Young and fair Alyce was a simpering waif with elaborately styled brown hair, freckled skin and guileless blue eyes. Her lack of personality and seeming naivety made her all the more untrustworthy. The aged Val, however, was a rotund and surly woman with an upturned nose. Unlike Alyce who painstakingly adhered to court fashion, Val wore varying shades of mottled brown and had a shock of grey hair hidden beneath a plain coif. At her most spiteful, Catelyn wondered whether Val's unlikable character stemmed from being older than her and still carrying the status of 'maiden'.

Following her conversation with Lord Tywin, Catelyn had been left physically and emotionally exhausted. A Goldcloak had led her to her chambers where she had gratefully tumbled into the bed and slept soundly for the first in a long time. She had forgotten how nice it felt to sleep on a stuffed mattress beneath warm furs.

Alyce and Val had arrived with the cold dawn. The younger handmaid swept the rushes and heated water over the fire whilst Val stripped Catelyn out of the dress that she had worn since the Twins and clucked disapprovingly.

"You're too thin," Val criticised.

Catelyn couldn't say that she was wrong. War had run her thin but grief had made her thinner. Catching her reflection in the looking glass, Catelyn could see that her bones jutted out against her skin which was shockingly white beneath the dirt and her hair had lost its natural lustre. The gouges she had made on her face had scabbed over and the quarrel had left a puckered scar on her shoulder as a constant reminder of what had passed at the Twins. She looked sickly and frail; half the woman that she had been back in Winterfell when this whole nightmare began.

They drew her a bath and she sank gladly into the steaming water. Alyce scrubbed at her skin with a hard brush, removing layers of grime until Catelyn was pink and smarting whilst Val undid her braid and combed through the tangles, pulling out great clumps of hair.

"This is no good," Val eventually huffed, "it will have to be cut."

"No," she cried desperately. Her hand grasped the elder handmaiden's wrist in a tight claw. _Ned loved my hair_. "You will not cut it."

The aged handmaiden scowled. "As m'lady commands."

Catelyn released her grip and sunk a couple of inches deeper into the water. Val continued combing through the tangles, pulling more than was necessary and seemingly gaining some vindictive pleasure from it. Not a single complaint or whimper escaped Catelyn's lips though; as a child her Septa had yanked a comb through her hair daily until young Cat Tully had learnt to accept the pain with the grace of a lady.

Nowadays, this pain was an almost pleasant respite from what she had become accustomed to.

Once clean, Alyce clothed her whilst Val braided half of her hair and left the rest loose upon her shoulders. She vaguely registered that the dress was red and blue, House Tully colours, when a heavy fist knocked upon the bedchamber door. Alyce answered and a Goldcloak stepped into the room.

"You are required at the court of King Joffrey Baratheon, m'lady."

* * *

Sansa's fists were firmly balled at her sides, the fingernails digging into the soft skin of her palms to stop them from trembling. She stood in the gallery of the Great Hall, amidst the other lords and ladies, as smallfolk and nobility alike brought their trivial matters to court. King Joffrey lounged on the Iron Throne, settling matters whilst the members of his Small Council sat at a table on the dais and nodded approvingly.

With each person that entered the court and bowed before their king, Sansa's anxiety grew. Her lord husband, Tyrion Lannister, had told her that morning that her mother would appear in court today. Her mouth had gone dry and she'd stood in the centre of their bedchamber, rooted to the floor as hope and fear warred within her.

Her emotions must have shown because Tyrion had taken her hand gently and called her name until she looked into his mismatched eyes. "You have nothing to fear, Sansa," he had promised her. "Your lady mother will appeal to Joffrey to absolve her of her crimes and he will accept."

"My father was told the same thing," Sansa had reminded him. "I don't think I need to tell you what happened next."

"Things are different now. Your mother arrived yesterday and treated with my father," Tyrion had told her. "They spoke for a long time and an… understanding was reached."

"If she arrived yesterday then why has she not come to see me?" Sansa had asked, suspicion colouring her tone. Tyrion had previously said that her mother was alive but rumours whispered that she had died at the Twins, along with Robb.

"I believe she was weary from travel and even more so from conversing with my father. I'm sure she would have come to you if she could." Tyrion had seemed to hesitate before adding, "Your mother is admirable, Sansa; strong and fiercely protective of her children. I have every faith that Lady Catelyn will do everything within her power to keep you safe."

Tyrion's words had provided comfort, however short-lived. Now, however, Sansa's stomach was tied up in painful knots. The doors to the Great Hall opened to permit the next person waiting for an audience with the king and a herald announced, "The Lady Catelyn of House Stark."

A hush descended upon the Great Hall, broken only by steady footfalls as Catelyn made the long walk towards the throne. Sansa's heart leapt into her throat as she looked upon her mother's lovely face for the first time in over a year. Her mother looked smaller than before and weary, too, but she was poised and graceful as she stopped before the dais where Joffrey sat and bent to one knee, head bowed.

Tears pricked the backs of Sansa's eyes. Joffrey wore a triumphant smirk, revelling in her mother's show of fealty. The Small Council members looked impassive as they sat on the dais, all except Tyrion whose face showed a hint of compassion and the glaring Queen Regent. Sansa could remember how she had trembled as she dropped to one knee before King Joffrey and his Small Council to beg mercy for her father. She remember how she had told herself to be strong like her lady mother. It felt so long ago now but she could still recall the tight knot that had formed in her stomach as she spoke, her voice quavering beneath their judgement.

"I am Catelyn Stark," her mother began, her voice ringing strong and true. "Lady of Winterfell and widower of Eddard Stark. I come before you to confess my crimes of treason. I joined the rebellion beside my son, Robb Stark, and encouraged him to take the titles of 'King in the North' and 'King of the Trident'. I ask of you, in the sight of Gods and Men, to grant me mercy for my crimes and I declare allegiance to Joffrey Baratheon, the one true king of the Iron Throne by the grace of all the Gods."

Sansa realised that she had drawn blood in her palms, four crescent shaped cuts, but she ignored them. Her mother's words painfully reflected those spoken by her father.

Joffrey stood from his throne and smiled down upon Catelyn. "You are brave to come here, my lady, and your words have certainly moved me," he told her. The king's eyes rounded the hall and finally settled on Sansa's, glittering maliciously. The fear coiled in Sansa's belly as Joffrey hesitated before announcing grandly, "I, Joffrey of the House Baratheon, the First of my name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do solemnly pardon you of all your crimes and I welcome you into the protection of my court. Arise, my lady." Catelyn did as her king commanded. Joffrey continued in ringing tones, "Moreover, it is my greatest pleasure to announce that in the light of forgiveness, friendship and fealty, the Houses Stark, Tully and Lannister will be further bonded with the union of my grandfather, Lord Tywin Lannister, and Lady Catelyn Stark."

The sob tore from Sansa's throat before she could quell it but no one seemed to have noticed as mutters broke out around the hall. Lord Tywin remained rigid and inscrutable upon the dais as Joffrey lifted a hand for silence. "Let this serve as a lesson to all that when our enemies defy us, we rain steel and fire down upon them but when they bend the knee, we lend them the hand to raise them up once more."

Margaery Tyrell led the applause, beaming at her betrothed, and the king drank the approval of his court. With a gesture, the court was dismissed and the crowd spilled from the Great Hall. Amongst the tide of people, Catelyn spun around and began searching faces until her eyes locked on her daughter's. Sansa watched the relief break across her face and rushed through the crowd, leaving the gallery and descending the steps to her mother's level.

The crowd paid no heed to the reunion of two traitors. Sansa fell into her mother's warm embrace for the first in a long time and couldn't stop the tears from spilling as she buried her head in Catelyn's shoulder. Catelyn shushed her gently and rubbed her back as though she were a child once more rather than a wife and woman flowered.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Sansa admitted, tear choked.

"I know."

"My Ladies," a familiar voice cut in. Sansa hastily scrubbed the tears from her eyes and looked down upon her lord husband. "Mayhaps you would prefer somewhere quieter where you may talk freely and away from prying eyes?"

Sansa glanced up and spotted Queen Cersei still glaring at them with cold fury. She couldn't deny the small sense of satisfaction that she felt in knowing that the Queen's most hated enemies were slowly infiltrating her family. Sansa nodded. "Yes, my lord."

Her grip refused to slacken on her mother as they followed Tyrion to their apartments atop the Kitchen Keep. It was only after Tyrion had dismissed their servants and excused himself that Sansa finally uncoiled her fingers from the sleeve of her mother's gown.

"So," Catelyn began uncomfortably, "you're a wife now."

"Yes," Sansa's answer was timid but she felt the need to explain, "but he hasn't… I mean, we haven't…"

Sansa felt herself colouring with embarrassment as her mother's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh," Catelyn said. She tried to speak a few times but kept faltering before finally saying, "The Imp has quite the reputation."

"He says he'll wait until I am ready," Sansa mumbled, her cheeks glowing. "He isn't handsome or gallant or strong like I'd hoped for but he is kind. He came to me and told me about Robb as soon as he found out and he told me about you too." She hesitated. "Is it true about what they did to Robb's body with Grey Wind's head?"

Sansa watched as a dark shadow passed across her mother's face, her eyes distant and full of painful remembrance. "He told you about that?" Catelyn asked, her voice hollow.

"No, it was Joffrey." The vehemence that accompanied the name came naturally. "The king also said you were dead. He told me that they cut your throat to the bone and dumped your body in the river. No matter how many times Tyrion promised me that it wasn't true, I couldn't believe him — not until today." The words suddenly burst from her lips, "Please don't marry Tywin Lannister. You don't know what Joffrey, the Queen and her father are like."

"Oh, Sansa," Catelyn breathed pityingly.

"You can't!"

"Sansa, please, I have to." Catelyn sighed dejectedly before continuing, "I don't expect you to understand. After your father's execution I tried to get Robb's bannermen to choose peace but instead they crowned Robb and continued this war. If I had tried harder at making them see sense then things may have been different now. I am so very tired, Sansa. I'm tired of war. I'm tired of losing those that I love."

Sansa knew that she should have expected this; Tyrion had told her that an 'understanding' had been reached between her mother and good-father. He'd also commented on her protectiveness of her family and determination to keep them safe. She screwed up the last vestiges of her bravery to say, "You don't need to do this for me, Mother. You don't need to worry about me."

The corners of Catelyn's eyes crinkled and she smiled, albeit a small one, for the first time in what felt like months. Her scarred hand cupped Sansa's soft cheek. "My sweet girl. I will always worry about you and I will always look to protect you, until the end of my days."

* * *

They had spent the afternoon together and Sansa had broken Catelyn's heart by tearfully admitting that it was her fault the queen had known of father's plan. It was her fault he had been arrested and sent to the executioner. And it was her fault that Arya was dead. "I was just a silly little girl who wanted to be Queen," Sansa had wept until Catelyn had calmed her with reassurances. How could a child realise she was being manipulated, by the queen, no less?

Tyrion returned as dusk was settling over the city. "I should take my leave," Catelyn announced, standing from where she and Sansa had settled in the solar.

"I'll see you again tomorrow?" Sansa asked, hopeful and fearful in equal measure.

Catelyn squeezed her daughter's shoulder. "Of course you will. I promise."

Tyrion offered to escort Catelyn to her chambers and they left the apartments. Whilst crossing the courtyard, he broke the silence. "She looks the happiest I have seen her in a long while," Tyrion commented.

"I hope to keep her that way," Catelyn answered stiffly. She couldn't help but recall that the last time they had spoken, he had been her prisoner. _And now look at us_ , she thought.

"That was quite the speech Joffrey gave this afternoon. My father's words, I am sure you'll agree, but no less pretty coming from the king's mouth," Tyrion said.

Catelyn was tired of small talk. "Why have you not bedded my daughter?" she asked abruptly.

If Tyrion was surprised at her boldness, he didn't show it. "She does not want to lay with me."

"I understand her reservations: she is young, a maid and believes all Lannister's to be guilty of the same crime." She could see that Tyrion was glad her courtesy stretched far enough to not mention his dwarfism but she couldn't stop her eyes from roving over his ugly scar. She continued crisply, "But why have _you_ not bedded _her_?"

"I will not force her." Tyrion had stopped walking. "She deserves better after all Joffrey put her through during their betrothal. I came into the Keep one day to find her stripped half naked in the lower bailey whilst Ser Boros Blount beat her and the stablehands looked on, laughing. That was punishment for Robb's victory at Oxcross. When a mob attacked us in the streets, Joffrey, Cersei, the guards, even I left Sansa to fend for herself. If the Hound hadn't found and protected her then she may have been torn apart like the old Septon or raped half a hundred times like Lollys Stokeworth. _I will not force her_ ," he repeated firmly, reassuringly. "She has suffered enough and all at the hands of the Lannisters."

Catelyn glanced away, her face crumpling and tears rising as she heard of only some of the things that her poor, sweet Sansa had endured. She drew a shaky breath and composed herself before turning her attention back to Tyrion. She bowed her head to him, "Thank you, my lord. I believe I can find my way from here."

Tyrion watched her walk away and recognised where his wife's relentless courage stemmed from.


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked and given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister realises that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** A section of this chapter is where I'm delving slightly more into the Game of Thrones timeline as opposed to the timeline of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ in terms of Jaime Lannister. Additionally, there's also a small nod to the first captive/captor scene between Catelyn and Jaime in GoT because I thought Michelle and Nikolaj played it wonderfully.

I just wanted to pre-warn you that I'm starting a new full-time job as of next week so it might mean that updates are slower as I get into the swing of things and find a good balance. I'm trying to write ahead of schedule so that I always have something prepared but I wanted you all to know that if I go silent then it's not because I'm abandoning this fic.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Four**

The royal sept in the Red Keep was nowhere near as grand as the Great Sept of Baelor perched on Visenya's hill but it held its own charm with brightly burning candles, crystal windows that created dancing prisms of light and seven altars dedicated to each of the Gods. _Father, Mother, Warrior, Maiden, Smith, Crone, Stranger._ As a child, Catelyn had favoured the Maiden, vehemently praying for strength in preserving her virtue through lips bruised from the ferocity of Brandon Stark's kisses. When her betrothed rode to the capitol, demanding Prince Rhaegar Targaryen pay for the crimes committed against Lyanna, she had prayed to the Crone that Brandon use caution and wisdom on his 'foolhardy quest', as her father had called it. Since marrying Ned in Brandon's place, she had prayed to the Mother: "Mother Above, please let Lord Eddard's seed take root…", "Mother Above, watch over my husband as he rides into war…", "Mother Above, protect this babe and let it grow healthy and strong…", "Mother Above, keep Ned and my children safe…"

Catelyn lit a candle at the Warrior and knelt before the altar, lacing her fingers together. _Warrior_ , she silently prayed, _please give me strength as I follow this path that has been laid before me. Give me courage in this battle that requires no swords and allow me to remain steadfast in protecting my only living child. Keep the Stranger at bay and defend us against further grief._

"It is not very often that I see a woman praying to the warrior."

Catelyn whipped her head around to find Margaery Tyrell giving her a gentle smile. The maiden, already widowed at sixteen years, bowed her head shyly. "I did not mean to disturb your worship."

"Not at all," Catelyn responded politely. "If I am honest, I came here for some respite from gown fittings."

The morning had been spent being poked, prodded and measured by seamstresses for her wedding gown whilst Alyce fluttered around, making inappropriate comments about how _lucky_ she was and Val watched on, stony faced. Catelyn had eventually announced that she wished to attend the sept so that she may escape them all.

She rose to her feet and dusted down the front of her gown. "The Mother doesn't seem to listen to my prayers anymore so I thought I would try the Warrior instead," she explained wryly.

"I believe the Mother is deaf to us all, if that insipid look on her face is anything to go by." Wizened Lady Olenna Redwyne stepped up from behind Margaery; if Margaery was the rose of High Garden then Lady Olenna was the thorn with its sharp prick. The future-Queen's grandmother took Catelyn's hand within two of her own, spotted ones. "I was so very sorry to hear of your losses, Lady Stark.

"As was I," Margaery added solemnly. "I hate how whenever we meet it always seems to be tainted by loss."

Catelyn's throat constricted but she managed to say, "You are both very kind."

"If this world was run by mothers then I am sure there would be far fewer unnecessary deaths," Lady Olenna said as they began to walk from the sept. They stepped out into the carefully maintained gardens, flanked by Lady Olenna's two guards Left and Right.

"My daughter has told me how pleasant you have both been to her since arriving in King's Landing," Catelyn said. "I am grateful. Sansa has had very few friends here in the capital."

"We were considered traitors too not so very long ago and it is my belief that traitors ought to stick together," Lady Olenna said brazenly. "It is a great shame that our Houses could not have been joined in a more permanent union. I believe Sansa had rather enjoyed the thought of it happening."

Lady Catelyn fixed the Queen of Thorns with a puzzled look, her eyebrow cocked in inquiry.

"I don't believe Sansa has told the Lady Catelyn, Grandmother," Margaery said apologetically.

"Told me what?" Catelyn asked, unable to conceal the sharpness in her tone.

"Why, we had rather hoped to wed Sansa to my grandson, the heir of High Garden, Ser Willas Tyrell," Lady Olenna explained. "Willas is a charming man despite his affliction, well-educated and kind with an affinity for breeding but, alas, the match was not to be."

"Why not?" Catelyn pressed, feeling her stomach coil with further anxiety.

"Lord Tywin saw to it that Sansa would marry Lord Tyrion. We only learnt of the match when the wedding was already taking place and by then it was too late. As I said, it was a great shame; I thought Sansa would have made an exceptional Lady of High Garden."

"My lady?" Margaery's face was a mask of concern. "You look pale."

Catelyn made her apologies and excuses, the words carelessly rolling into one, before hurrying away from the Tyrell's. Once out of sight, she stumbled as the harsh reality hit her. Sansa could have married Willas, she could have been safe in High Garden but instead they had given her to the Imp. Anger rose within her and Catelyn marched straight towards the Tower of the Hand, taking the dizzying flight of steps up to Tywin's solar.

The raised voices reached her long before she stepped onto the landing where two members of the Kingsguard stood.

"…then strip her of her titles and take her as a whore!" Catelyn could hear Cersei demanding. "If it is what's between her legs that you so desire then take it but you have no right to give my mother's title away to that woman!"

Belatedly, Catelyn realised that the argument concerned her. She was past the point of no return now, however, as she crossed the corridor. The door to the Hand's solar was thrown open and Cersei stormed out, her face contorting with rage upon seeing Catelyn. Wordlessly, the Queen Regent flounced past, followed by her guards and Catelyn entered the solar feeling uncomfortable.

Tywin stood by the fire, his arms crossed behind his back and his jaw tensed angrily but he didn't seem nearly as caught up in his emotions as his daughter had been. "Lady Catelyn," he said tersely.

"My lord," she answered distractedly. There was a pause as Catelyn tried to gather her thoughts but stumbling upon an argument concerning herself had thrown her.

"Are you well?" Tywin asked, his tone clipped with impatience.

It was his impatience that cut through her. She knew he cared little for her and even less for her daughter. "No. No I am not _well_. I have just been speaking to Lady Olenna and Margaery Tyrell; they tell me Sansa was due to marry Ser Willas."

"They were not even betrothed," Tywin dismissed. "It was a fanciful idea that I stopped before it could come into fruition."

"You stopped it by marrying her to the Imp."

Tywin turned his cold fury upon Catelyn. " _Lord Tyrion_ is my son and Sansa was a ward of the crown; I did as I saw fit."

"She could have been happy!"

"Do you think the Tyrell's cared for Sansa's happiness?" he demanded. "They saw only opportunity: with your son in open rebellion, Sansa was the next heir to Winterfell."

"And I'm sure that fact was not lost on you," she said with cutting frankness.

"No, it was not," he responded sharply. "I was not about to relinquish the North to the Tyrell's. Everything that I do is to better the Lannister family name; a name that your daughter now holds, as will you. Once you are married to me, the name 'Stark' will fall into nonexistence. Roose Bolton will remain as Warden of the North until Tyrion gets a son in Sansa's belly and, when the child comes of age, he will return to Winterfell and take what it his by rights."

The anxiety spread as Catelyn thought of a Lannister, even her grandson, sitting in the seat of House Stark. Would he know that he resided over the bones of his ancestors, the last of whom had been slaughtered by his grandfather?

"Sit," Tywin commanded. Catelyn hesitated before doing as bid, sitting at a table that was laden with food. She wondered whether he and Cersei had been enjoying an afternoon meal together when their argument had broken. Tywin also took a seat at the table but the food remained untouched. "You seem to forget that your own marriage was borne out of convenience," Tywin reminded her shrewdly. "How many men did Ned Stark gain when Lord Hoster married you to him?"

Catelyn didn't answer and Tywin reclined back in his chair, triumph radiating from him. "Tyrion may be a stunted little wretch but he will treat Sansa fairly. You may not like the decisions that I have made but I have been honest with you about why I made them. The Tyrell's, on the other hand, are not to be trusted."

"So why go through with this marriage between Joffrey and Margaery?" Catelyn asked. "If you trust them so little then why make their daughter queen?"

"They may be untrustworthy but they have been useful. Without the Tyrell's, this city would have fallen to Stannis Baratheon during the Battle of Blackwater or starved in the aftermath. We need their wealth and support," Tywin admitted. "I would advise you, however, to exercise caution with them. It is no surprise that Lady Olenna has put her manipulative tongue to use but even maidenly Margaery is more cunning than she appears."

A flush crept across her cheeks as Catelyn realised her outburst had been precisely the reaction that the grandmother and granddaughter had hoped for. She lowered her gaze and mumbled, "I will remember in future, my lord."

Tywin studied her, noting that it was nice to see some colour on her exceptionally pale face. He gestured to the food in front of them. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

Tywin fixed her with another icy stare. "Do I need to assign a septa to sit with you at mealtimes, like a child?" he demanded. "I have already been informed that you eat little to nothing."

Catelyn's mouth formed into a hard, angry line. So she had been right in suspecting that her handmaiden's were spying on her and reporting information back to someone. Sullenly, she picked up a chunk of bread and tore it to pieces before eating them, choking the food down. Catelyn avoided the richest foods, knowing her stomach wouldn't handle it, but still only took small bites of the dishes. Tywin poured them each a cup of Arbour red and set it before her wordlessly.

"Thank you," she muttered.

"If it is any consolation, your lack of appetite is the most that has been noted," he told her. "It seems you're guarded around your handmaiden's even more so than you are with me."

She bit her lip, knowing that she had been quite frank and honest with Tywin in her outbursts so far. They ate in not-quite companionable silence and Catelyn had a glimpse into what their marriage would be like. Their union would be neither loving nor happy, and she would never be able to forgive Tywin for the part that he had played in the orchestration of her son's murder, but she thought that they could perhaps learn to be content.

* * *

Catelyn had dismissed her handmaiden's for the night after they'd bathed and robed her before settling in front of the fire. She'd spent the better part of the evening staring into its depths, her mind consumed with her upcoming nuptials. The knock on the door of her bedchamber was almost timid, pulling Catelyn from her morose thoughts.

Crossing the bedchamber, she opened the door a fraction to peer out before widening it in unexpected surprise. Ser Jaime Lannister stood on the other side.

"I'm sorry for calling so late, my lady," he apologised. Realising she was only wearing a modest sleep shift and robe, Jaime averted his eyes. "I can return some other time if now is not convenient."

"No, it's fine," Catelyn heard herself saying. She stepped back into her bedchamber and Jaime followed, leaving the door open for decorum's sake. _Another Lannister who was once a prisoner of mine_ , Catelyn mused with black humour. She reseated herself in the chair by the fire and Jaime shadowed her example. In the flickering light, she could see that his hair which had been long, matted and filthy when she last saw him had been sheared short and was only just regrowing. He was clean shaven but still gaunt from captivity and, of course, his right hand was now a solid gold imitation.

He gestured with the gold hand. "I almost managed to come back in one piece."

Jaime's humour was as black as her own but it had lost the arrogant bite that she'd been subjected to whilst he was imprisoned in Robb's camp.

"What do you want, Ser Jaime?" she asked tiredly.

"I broke my vow to you. I swore that after you released me and I returned to King's Landing, I would send your daughters back to you… and I failed. By the time I rode into King's Landing, I found Sansa married to my brother, Arya was presumed dead and you were a prisoner of the Frey's, already being led here under escort."

Catelyn's voice was quiet, "If you have come here for absolution—"

"No, my lady, not absolution," he gently cut in. "I deserve none. I cannot swear to protect you or Sansa as I've already proven my shortcomings in that area but I know of someone who will remain loyal to you until their last breath." She tried to hide it but Jaime could tell her interest was piqued. He continued, "The Lady Brienne of Tarth. She may be a foolhardy wench with more loyalty than smarts at times but she served you true in delivering me to King's Landing and I believe she will continue to serve you, whether you accept her or not. She takes her vows seriously, as I am sure you know, and will remain your sworn sword until death."

Catelyn didn't speak for a moment, instead studying him. He spoke with such genuine sincerity that it was difficult to compare him to the man who had thrown her son from a window; it was difficult to remember that this man was the Kingslayer.

"You've grown, Ser Jaime," she eventually said.

"It was a long journey from Riverrun to King's Landing."

Jaime rose, knowing that he had given Catelyn something to think about. Before slipping out of the door, he hesitated and glanced back at his soon-to-be stepmother. She was still seated by the fire and the shadows played across her face, deepening the lines formed by grief. He felt the ghost of an ache in his jaw from being punched by a small hand clutching a rock and softly said, "You should get some sleep."


	5. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** So here we have the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy. The end of the chapter does stray into M territory with explicit sexual content so please be advised. As this is a Tywin/Catelyn story, however, please note that it won't be all romance and flowers.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and/or added this story to their following list; it is all very much appreciated. And, to those of you that like leaving flames: keep 'em coming! I thoroughly enjoy reading them and have had quite the giggle over how amusing they are. My personal favourite so far has been: "This story is a disgusting butrchery (butt archery, perhaps?) of catelyn's character..." You're completely right, of course, I am definitely butt archery-ing Catelyn's character and quite unashamedly, too.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Five**

Sansa had spent the better part of a half an hour trying to locate her mother. She was running out of feasible places of where her mother could be when she entered the Godswood on a whim. It made little sense for Catelyn, a follower of the Faith of the Seven, to be in the Red Keep's Godswood and yet, that was where Sansa found her. There were no weirwood trees in the South, having been torn down long ago, so the heart tree was a huge oak and her mother stood at its base.

Catelyn had her back to Sansa, one hand pressed against the trunk of the oak and the other tightly clamped over her mouth. She looked simultaneously beautiful and ghastly. The stifled sobs were painful to watch but Sansa daren't move closer lest she encroached upon her mother's privacy. Since Catelyn had arrived in King's Landing, Sansa had been drawing from her strength and marvelled at her composedness but now Sansa saw the raw emotions that had been locked inside. Her mother's head was bowed and her chest heaved as she struggled to draw breath through the tears.

Slowly and silently, Sansa left the Godswood and vowed to herself that she would never mention seeing her mother's naked vulnerability on the morning of her wedding to Tywin Lannister.

* * *

Catelyn felt strangely detached as she approached the royal sept where the boy-king stood waiting to perform his duties as father of the realm. She had been carefully primed and prepared for the wedding, her hair cascading down her back in soft ringlets, the auburn locks flaming against the gown that was a complimentary damask pattern of Stark grey on Tully blue. She had expressly forbidden Alyce from styling her hair in the Southron fashion but consented to a few braids that drew the curls away from her face. Myrish lace covered the long, snug-fitting sleeves and the damask skirt parted from beneath the bust to the hemline, revealing cloth-of-silk beneath. The bodice had been laced so tightly that the tops of her breasts hinted over the scooped neckline whilst a rope of Summer Isle pearls hung around her throat.

Joffrey was grinning in vindictive triumph as he held up the material that hung over his arm. Catelyn glanced distastefully at the maiden's cloak.

"Do you like it?" he asked, smirking.

"I am hardly a maiden," she pointed out.

"Which is why you won't be wearing a maiden's cloak." Joffrey shook the white velvet out, revealing the fierce direwolf that had been embroidered on the material in silver thread. "Think of it more as a widower's cloak. You'll wear your traitor husband's colours so that when it's thrown away and my grandfather drapes you in something of prestige, everyone will know that House Stark is officially dead." He held the cloak up. "Now, turn around."

Catelyn turned away wordlessly and Joffrey fastened the cloak around her shoulders. He gathered her hair and pulled it out from beneath the jewel-embellished collar, whispering, "You can think of this moment later when you're lying in the dark with my grandfather panting on top of you."

The doors to the sept opened and Joffrey took her arm tightly in his. The candles were burning as usual, casting their guttering light, but Catelyn thought the sept had lost some of its charm as she walked towards the altar between the Mother and the Father where the septon and Lord Tywin awaited. She could feel Sansa's gaze burning into her but she stared determinedly ahead, her face a devoid mask. Tywin looked resplendent and formidable in a velvet tunic the colour of wine and the golden chain of hands around his neck glittering in the candlelight. Joffrey placed her scarred hand atop his grandfather's and she looked up into Tywin's face, feeling her carefully constructed mask almost slip as memories of another wedding rushed to the surface.

Before the septon, Catelyn numbly said the vows, sang the songs and listened reverently to the prayers that she had memorised since she were a child when she and Lysa had taken turns 'marrying' Petyr Baelish on the grassy banks at Riverrun. She had always strived to be perfect for her future husband. Tensing as Joffrey stepped up, the boy-king unclasped the Stark cloak and dumped it unceremoniously to the floor before Tywin swept the crimson cloak of House Lannister around her shoulders.

"With this kiss I pledge my love," her throat caught despite her best intentions, "and take you for my lord and husband."

"With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife."

Their lips met with surprising softness as the septon lifted his crystal, cascading them in dancing, rainbow light. "Here in the sight of gods and men," he declared, "I do solemnly proclaim Tywin of House Lannister and Catelyn of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and curse be the one who comes between them."

And thus she was a wife again. Lady Catelyn Lannister, Lady of Casterly Rock, wife to the Warden of the West and Hand of the King. Her titles brought a bitter twist to her mouth. Catelyn's hand was still in Tywin's as he led the procession from the sept, across the courtyard and into the Tower of the Hand where the wedding feast would take place.

The Small Hall was much the same as it usually looked with its wall sconces burning brightly and richly decorated tapestries lining the walls but additional Lannister banners hung from the vaulted ceiling, a lion prancing on a blood red field. Catelyn sat at a table draped in gold samite with her lord husband on a dais that had been erected at the head of the hall, overlooking their guests. Their company mainly comprised of King Joffrey's courtiers but many of the houses that weren't in open defiance had either attended or sent representatives.

Throughout the feast, guests would converge upon them offering congratulations, gifts and making toasts which they politely accepted. Catelyn was picking at her food when another guest stepped up to the dais. She glanced up and stiffened as Olyvar Frey stood before her, head bowed and eyes averted. Catelyn regarded her son's former squire coolly; Olyvar had not been present at the Twins during Edmure's wedding to his sister, Roslin. She did not know whether the young Frey had opposed his father's scheme and therefore been sent away or whether he hadn't known of the plot at all. Either way, Catelyn found that she did not care.

"My lord, my lady," Olyvar greeted through quivering tones. "I come to offer my congratulations on your union on behalf of my father, Lord Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing and," he hesitated, swallowing, "faithful servant to House Lannister. He wanted me to inform the Lady Catelyn that your brother is well and also asks that you accept this gift from House Frey."

Olyvar placed a small bundle, wrapped cheaply in a scrap of roughspun wool and knotted with string, on the table. Tywin deftly pulled at the string with long fingers and Catelyn glanced away, lips pinched, as a wooden carving of a lion mounting a wolf fell from the wrappings.

When she looked back, Olyvar had disappeared and Tywin was telling a guard of his to take the gift away with something akin to disgust in his tone. Catelyn picked up her cup of Arbour red and drank deeply, letting the wine burn through her, and only finishing when her fingers stopped shaking with rage and humiliation. The next well-wisher stepped up and Catelyn felt her expression soften as her lips quirked up in a tender smile.

Brienne of Tarth towered over them in tunic and breeches, her sword hanging at her waist, looking sombre as she bowed to each of them in turn. "My lord. My lady." Brienne addressed Tywin, "I am Brienne of Tarth."

"I know who you are," Tywin responded. "I have heard a great many things about you from my son, Ser Jaime. He tells me it was you who got him safely back to King's Landing."

"I did that under orders, my lord, not through noble gallantry," Brienne said in earnest. "I am pledged to your lady wife, her sworn sword and protector. I promised to shield her back, keep her counsel and give my life for hers. I intend on keeping my oath, if she will have me."

Brienne had turned her crystal blue eyes upon Catelyn. In turn, the Lady Lannister said, "I vowed that you would always have a place at my hearth, meat and mead at my table, and that I would never ask you to dishonour yourself. You are most welcome here."

Brienne smiled, bowed again and retreated to the base of the dais where she stood off to one side, already fulfilling her duties as Catelyn's sworn sword.

Tywin had watched the exchange with growing amusement but he made no comment. The musicians struck up their instruments and he offered his arm to Catelyn, intending to lead her in the first dance. She removed the heavy Lannister cloak, leaving it folded on her seat before following him mechanically; she had always loved to dance, begging Ned to join her at feasts despite his clumsy footing and awkward stance. Tywin Lannister, however, led with firm surety.

Once on the floor, with every eye turned upon them, the music changed from the lively tune of _Iron Lances_ to something darker and ominous. The lonely cello silenced the hall as it played the opening to _The Rains of Castamere_ and Catelyn tensed, her emotionless mask slipping. She look over her shoulder at the musician playing and noticed the faces of those watching: some were oblivious, others politely disinterested. Joffrey's eyes were glittering with malice.

Catelyn turned back to Tywin and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head but he remained steadfast, his expression carved from stone and an eyebrow quirked challengingly.

As the other instruments joined the cello, the new Lord and Lady Lannister began to dance. Their fluid steps mirrored each other, full of grace and poise. The dance was one she recognised, having learnt them all from her septa in Riverrun. She'd enjoyed this particular dance with Brandon once, to a much livelier tune, stealing furtive glances at her betrothed and flushing when he grinned back at her.

Left arms extended away from their bodies, Tywin wrapped his right arm around her waist and she rested her palm against his chest, feeling the cold chain of office beneath her fingers. They stepped in a tight circle, eyes focused solely on the other with a blazing intensity, before quickening their pace to a trot, their feet crossing back and forth as they travelled the length of the floorspace. Tywin took Catelyn's hand and spun her under his arm until her back was flush with his chest, their left hands resting on her hip and their right arms held out, step digging to the music.

Catelyn was surprised that no other couples had joined them, instead choosing to keep a wide berth and watch. She wondered whether the guests knew that this was their personal battlefield.

The music swelled as Tywin turned Catelyn, keeping their right hands clasped whilst his left went to the small of her back and she took hold of his shoulder. Their steps led them on a tour of the room, the numerous faces blurring past but Catelyn remained focused on Tywin's eyes; there was something unreadable in them, an array of emotions that never translated to his face. Tywin spun her beneath his arm once more, rolled her into his body and then released her. Catelyn dropped into a deep curtsey and Tywin gave a low bow as the closing chords of the song played.

A polite smattering of applause broke around them. Catelyn straightened as the minstrels began a rousing rendition of _The Bear and Maiden Fair_ and the other guests joined the floorspace, spreading into the gaps separating her from her husband. Over the heads of those now dancing, Catelyn met Tywin's gaze unwaveringly until Mace Tyrell took her hand and insisted she dance with him next. He was followed by Ser Balon Swann of the Kingsguard, then the exiled Prince Jalabhar Xho who smacked his lips against each of her cheeks twice, and finally Prince Tommen. The Prince placed a solemn kiss upon her hand and led her through the steps, his face screwed up in concentration and his feet often stepping on her toes but she found him endearing. Over Tommen's head she could see Sansa dancing with Ser Loras Tyrell, newly appointed member of the Kingsguard, and her heart ached upon seeing the unabashed girlish delight on her daughter's face.

Flushed from the dancing, Catelyn wished to retire for refreshment but a hand gripped her upper arm, stopping her from leaving the floorspace.

"I will have the next dance," Joffrey's cruel voice said. He held his hand out gallantly and she reluctantly took it, allowing him to dance with her. "That was quite the performance between yourself and my grandfather. I almost thought you enjoyed it. _The Rains of Castamere_ was a particularly nice touch, one my grandfather insisted upon, but then he always has known how to crush his enemies."

"Let us hope that House Baratheon never becomes an enemy of House Lannister, then."

Joffrey glared at her. "You are defiant, aren't you? Perhaps the North really did make you more wolf than fish." He looked her up and down, his voice silky, "It matters not though. My grandfather knows how to break those that defy him and he has plenty of time to make you yield, _grandmother._ "

Catelyn tried to wrench herself from his grip but he held on tighter, turning with the other dancers and casting a charming smile at a nearby couple. She felt sickened knowing that she was now closely related to this wretched boy.

"My mother was positively livid when Tommen called you that in front of her," Joffrey confided. "She said you would never replace her mother and that you're only a few years older than she is. Then there is my grandfather, just shy of celebrating his sixtieth name day," Joffrey laughed spitefully. "If he's too old to satisfy then I could always slip into your bedchamber. I hear that there are still some places in the North where a bride's lord has first bedding rights."

Catelyn turned her head away in barely contained disgust and Joffrey grinned, relishing in making her uncomfortable. "Would you not enjoy that? I suppose you are rather old. Besides, I have my eyes set on another new bride — a maiden, no less."

She followed his cruel gaze to where Sansa was now dancing with Lord Orton Merryweather. Unthinkingly, Catelyn swept her arm up to slap Joffrey but he anticipated the blow and gripped her wrist tightly, holding it between their chests. He tutted and smirked. "Careful, it is treason to hit your king."

"Is there a problem, your Grace?" Tywin had stepped up behind Joffrey. For the first time, Catelyn was glad for his presence because it prevented her from doing something that she would later regret.

"Not at all. In fact," Joffrey raised his voice over the music and din of the Small Hall, "I believe it is time that we bed them!"

The band started playing _The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, The King Took Off His Crown_ and cheers arose in the Small Hall, echoing off the stone walls as hands grabbed and tugged at Catelyn. She was hurried towards the doors that led out of the Small Hall, losing sight of Tywin completely, as fingers ripped impatiently at the laces of her bodice. Hands groped at her as bawdy jests were thrown quicker than she could respond to them and the sleeve of her gown was town in their haste.

Suddenly, Tywin was blocking their path and she was appalled to see that the female guests had been too timid to subject him to the bedding. Frustrated anger rose in her until Tywin reached out and removed her from the group of men, tucking her protectively beneath his arm.

"That's quite enough," Tywin said firmly.

Joffrey glared at his grandfather petulantly. "Am I to be the only husband who engages in a proper bedding ceremony during their wedding?"

"The Lady Catelyn and I have both been previously married, your Grace, and neither of us are shy maids requiring advice or encouragement," his words were polite but the undertone of ice made Catelyn shiver. "Now, if you will excuse us."

They exited the Small Hall, leaving the ongoing feast behind them, and crossed towards the tightly winding staircase. He'd released his grip on her once away from the bedding procession.

"Thank you," she finally mumbled.

Tywin stopped and turned, looking down on her from his elevated position on the stairs. "You are my wife. I will not have lecherous men with wandering hands touching what is mine."

They reached the apartments for the Hand of the King and Tywin led them through the solar to the adjoining bedchamber. He held the door open and let Catelyn pass but once inside she hesitated despite feeling Tywin's eyes on her. _Ned._ This had been his chamber and that had been his bed. Had he paced these floors at night, worrying about his kin and king in equal measure? Had he stood naked by the window, sweating and too hot, as sleep alluded him? Had he lain at night thinking of her?

Slowly, she crossed to the vanity that she suspected had been added to the chamber for her benefit and sat down. The looking glass showed tears in her eyes but she blinked them back until they were no more. This was neither the time nor the place for weakness. She'd allowed herself to be weak that morning in the Godswood for one glorious moment before vowing to herself that she would lock her dead husband and children away in her heart. Tywin was still watching her, she knew. She carefully pulled the pins from her hair, releasing the few braids and letting them tumble down her back. The light from the sconces dappled across her skin and set her hair ablaze.

She wanted to tell Tywin that she knew her responsibility as his lady wife and would act accordingly but the words stuck in her throat or died on her lips. Slowly, she rose and turned to face her husband who looked at her though emeralds, hard and dark with naked desire.

Tywin closed the gap between them and snaked a hand around her back to tug at the half undone laces of her gown. The bodice loosened and Catelyn pulled her arms free of the sleeves, shimmying the dress down her body until it lay abandoned at her feet. Her hands were surprisingly steady as she lifted the livery collar of linked hands over Tywin's head to drop on the vanity before unclasping the velvet doublet and sliding the garment off of his shoulders where it fell to the floor.

Joffrey had been right in saying that his grandfather was older but that didn't mean his body had gone to waste. Tywin was still lean and hard as in youth with broad shoulders and strong, capable hands.

Catelyn hissed and her fingers gripped Tywin's upper arms when he cupped her breasts through her thin shift, causing the nipples to pucker in response. Tywin bit the inside of his cheek in amusement and Catelyn felt irritation rise in her. Rather than pull away, she shifted her stance and let her hip brush against the front of his breeches. Tywin tensed, stifling a growl of frustration, and Catelyn let gratification spread through her. She wasn't going to lie down and take this marriage like it was a beating. She brushed against him again experimentally and Tywin gripped fistfuls of her shift in his hands, his breath shuddering near her ear. It was equally unnerving and exulting to see the usually ruthless and unflappable Tywin Lannister begin to come undone.

"It appears I may have underestimated you, my lady," he said, the timbre of his voice richer.

"Many people do but they don't make the same mistake twice."

The fabric still bunched in his hands, Tywin lifted her shift up and over her head, leaving her bare to him. It was undeniable that she was too thin but her curves were still womanly, boasting wide hips, a small waist and full breasts. Bearing five children had left its mark but Tywin hadn't been expecting an unblemished maiden.

He unlaced his breeches as Catelyn retreated to the canopied bed. She scrambled backwards until she lay against the pillows and Tywin followed, fire in his eyes. Her legs parted and he nestled between them, bracing his arms on either side of her head. He trailed his mouth down the column of her throat and Catelyn's breaths became shallower as his hand ghosted up the inside of her thigh. She released a whimper as two of his fingers slipped between her slick folds, curling within her. Tywin brought the heel of his hand down to the small bundle of nerves at the apex of her womanhood and Catelyn bit her lip as her stomach knotted with pleasure. He took her nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue over the bud and Catelyn's fingers bit into his back. He continued to stroke her intimately, his palm grinding against her clit as the pressure built.

Her hips bucked and the tight knot in her core snapped. Tywin's fingers rode out her pleasure until she settled back against the furs, chest heaving and tendrils of hair stuck to her sweat-dampened skin. She looked down and saw that Tywin was stroking himself - or, more accurately, coating himself. Flushing with embarrassment, she looked away before he guided his cock to her warm entrance, thrusting into her in one swift movement. She sucked in a breath and exhaled, shuddering.

Catelyn's legs tangled around the backs of Tywin's calves, his hands held onto the headboard of the bed as he plunged repeatedly into her. She rolled her hips against his, matching each of his thrusts and it wasn't long before his breath shortened next to her ear. He took one hand off of the headboard and curled it beneath her thigh, hitching her leg further up and deepening his penetration. Catelyn's moans were soft and breathy as she began to convulse around him. Tywin sped up, his thrusts coming sharper until he spilled his seed inside of her with a guttural groan. They remained entangled, Tywin's cock softening inside her as they regulated their breathing. He released his hold on her thigh and she slowly unfolded her body from around his.

Tywin rolled off of her and reached down to pull the furs over them. The light in the scones had dipped low, allowing the gloom to settle in the chamber. They lay on their backs, stiff and formal, staring up at the canopy with no words to say as the chasm between them filled with ghosts.


	6. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** I hope you all enjoy chapter six. As ever, thank you to my lovely reviewers.

Unnamed visitor: Unfortunately I cannot message you personally but I just wanted to express my gratitude for all of the lovely reviews that you leave! Every time I get a review from you, I am so excited because you are full of such insight - the last review in particular just blew me away because some of the things that you mentioned felt as though you had crawled inside my head whilst also challenging my imagination and helping it to grow so thank you! You've given me so much more inspiration and have expanded this story even further. The next chapter (Chapter Seven) is one that I've only written after reading your review and it helped me to flesh the characters out a little more.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Six**

The following morning, Catelyn awoke to find the bed empty beside her with cool sheets where Tywin had lain. Val was already bustling around the chamber so Catelyn climbed out from beneath the furs slowly, still tender from the bedding. A sleep shift and richly embroidered, green robe had been laid out for her so she pulled them on before padding out to the solar where she found her lord husband, already dressed for the day and breaking his fast on eggs, bread and ale.

Catelyn dropped into a seat opposite him and picked a piece of comb up, dripping the honey over a heel of bread. She took a large bite, the sticky sweetness running over her fingers.

Tywin glanced up from the parchment that he was perusing. "I see your appetite is returning," he commented.

"A little," she said, knowing well that it was the previous night's activity that had left her famished. She glanced at the parchment in his hand, burning with curiosity but daren't ask about it. Instead, she settled for a neutral topic, "I see Val and Alyce are still my handmaiden's."

"Val is, Alyce is not," he answered. At her raised eyebrow, Tywin elaborated, "Alyce was in the employment of Cersei; I find it helps to give Cersei enough indulgence so that she believes she holds real power. I will not, however, have her spying in my own chambers."

Catelyn took another bite from the honeyed bread and chewed slowly, her eyes trailing once more to the parchment that Tywin had resumed reading. "It's a harvest report," he explained without looking up. "Winter is fast approaching and, even with supplies from the Reach, the country is going to struggle with provisions following the war."

"Well if you hadn't sent Ser Gregor Clegane to burn and pillage the Riverlands then mayhaps you wouldn't be struggling for the harvest," Catelyn snapped caustically.

She began savagely tearing at the bread on her plate, ripping it into chunks without eating it as a storm of emotions raged inside her. The Riverlands had been the second most fertile of the seven kingdoms but the Mountain and his men had reduced half of it to ash — the other half had been destroyed by the rivermen themselves, to spite the Lannister armies and prevent them from benefitting from their lands.

Catelyn finally sighed, deflating. She knew that their marriage was not ideal but continually throwing their past misdeeds at each other would not be beneficial either. Eventually, she said with clear difficulty, "I shouldn't have said that."

Tywin set the parchment aside. "You have never been shy of voicing your opinion before," he said, not unkindly. She flushed, remembering how she had raged not once but twice at him. He continued, "If I wanted a meek wife then I would have taken my pick from any one of those simpering fools in court. I need someone who isn't afraid to give their counsel."

"Even if their counsel differs in opinion to your own?" she asked.

"Do you think good advice comes from sheep who simply nod and bleat your own words back at you?" Tywin asked. "No, I didn't think so. My sources tell me that it was you who convinced Lord Walder to let your son's army cross the Twins, and it was you who treated with Renly and Stannis Baratheon. You are smart and politically competent. I assume because your lord father and Eddard Stark gave you more freedom than most men would allow. You have never been a caged bird, Catelyn, and I would not have you become one now."

It was not lost on her that he had used her given name for the first time without formalities preceding it. "You need me to send the messages suing for peace," she guessed correctly. "And yet I fear that you are putting too much faith in my words. Why should the Northern lords listen to me? I urged them to choose peace once before and they ignored me. I begged Robb to bend the knee and he refused. The Northern lords owe me no loyalty so _why_ should they listen?"

"They ignored you once before and it cost them dearly. You lost just as much, if not more, than them and yet you are seeking peace, not vengeance. They will recognise that and they will draw strength from that. They will listen to you because you are the only representative of King Joffrey's whom they can trust."

Catelyn was still unconvinced. "And what happens if the lords still refuse to listen?"

"Then it is their folly, not yours," he said before adding, "and certainly not your daughter's."

Catelyn nodded thoughtfully. "By sending the messages, we will hopefully prevent the further destruction of crops and livestock whilst allowing the rivermen to rebuild their livelihoods. As for the harvest itself, I suggest increasing production in the parts of the country where war hasn't struck; the Reach, for example, is still fertile and I hear that the fishing off of the coast of Lannisport is plentiful. We can also import largely from the Free Cities and trade with the Summer Isles. Meanwhile, allow the Riverlands to right itself; the land was rich and fertile once, if carefully tended then it will heal itself."

Tywin fixed her with his cool gaze, testing her. "And where do we get the coin to import goods from the Free Cities or rebuild holdfasts lost in the war? The crown is already in a substantial amount of debt."

"You could raise taxes further," Catelyn said and then hesitated. She struggled with her conscience before finally saying, "And I will write in my message to the River and Northern lords that as well as swearing fealty, the terms for peace also requires them to pay a large fine; the sum of which will depend on their annual income."

Tywin leaned back in his chair, regarding her with something akin to respect. "These were your son's bannermen," he reminded her, as though sensing her moral struggle.

"And they lost the war. All those who lose must pay the price, one way or another."

* * *

"… _I do therefore solemnly urge that you cease fighting and swear fealty to your true king, Joffrey Baratheon, so that this country may heal._

 _'In swearing fealty you will keep your lands and titles but will be required to pay a sum of one thousand dragons to the crown so that villages, holdfasts and crops destroyed during the war may be rebuilt. The war cost us much and we all lost much but there is hope for a future; a peaceful future for our Houses, for what remains of our families and for the whole of Westeros._

'Signed, Lady Catelyn Lannister."

Tywin finished reading the message that his lady wife had written that morning, her hand gliding across the page in firm strokes as the sun filtered through the window behind her, catching the thousands of shades in her hair. She'd allowed him to read the message only once it had been finished and he'd given her a curt nod before calling a meeting with his Small Council.

Seated around the table with himself at the head was Ser Kevan, Grand Maester Pycelle, Prince Oberyn Martell, Mathis Rowan, Tyrion, Lord Varys, Paxter Redwyne, Mace Tyrell and Jaime. Cersei, having been dismissed from the Small Council by Tywin, did not sit with them but had insisted on attending the meeting so was placed against the wall. King Joffrey had declined the invitation to attend.

The Queen Regent gave a haughty sniff but conceded, "She may be a traitor but she certainly is an eloquent one."

"Indeed, my lord. Lady Catelyn's words did truly move me: so very clever and evocative," Lord Varys simpered. "I do believe that she may be the only person in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms capable of bringing this war to its final, long-anticipated end."

Cersei bristled at his words and Tyrion shot the Master of Whisperers a bemused smirk.

"So you take their coin, they keep their lands and everyone's happy," Prince Oberyn summarised. "We can go about our everyday business."

"Not quite," Jaime inputted. "Riverrun is still under siege; the Blackfish refuses to relinquish the castle to Ser Ryman Frey, despite his army being encamped outside. They say the Blackfish still flies a direwolf banner from atop the castle. Sybil Spice and her children, including Robb Stark's wife Jeyne Westerling, are also being held within the castle — it may well be that the Blackfish is protecting Jeyne because she is carrying Stark's heir."

Tywin briefly glanced at his brother and closest confidante, Ser Kevan, and Jaime had the distinct feeling that he was missing something. Tywin turned back to Jaime and waved his hand dismissively. "The Blackfish is holding Riverrun to make a point; we hurt his family and therefore he's laying claim to the castle. Let him read Catelyn's message and perhaps he will see sense."

"'Catelyn'?" Cersei repeated, a smirk slanting across her face. "How very familiar."

"And if he doesn't?" Jaime asked, raising his voice before his father could respond.

"Ser Brynden always was a stubborn man," Mathis Rowan said, his eyes narrowed as he recalled how the much-celebrated warrior had refused Rowan's sister when Lord Hoster Tully arranged a match between them.

"If the Blackfish still refuses to release Riverrun then Ser Ryman's forces will storm the castle and take it by force," Tywin finally declared.

"And put everyone to the sword?" Tyrion added pointedly.

"If needs be," his father answered coldly.

Tyrion gave him a shrewd smile, his mismatched eyes glinting. "I am sure your new lady wife will be thrilled."

The Small Council meeting shortly after adjourned and Tyrion left, whistling _The Rains of Castamere_. Tywin followed the members out to the courtyard where they began to disperse and Prince Oberyn fell into step beside him.

"I believe I owe you a congratulations on your wedding," the Prince of Dorne said in accented tones. "I was sorry that I couldn't attend but, unfortunately, Lannister events do not agree with me. I have to admit that I was surprised to hear that you were marrying again after all these years — and to the wife and mother of traitors, no less. In the brothels they are saying that Lady Catelyn must be quite the impressive woman if she turned Lord Tywin's mighty head."

"Our marriage is a union born from duty," Tywin said coldly.

"Ah yes; _Family, Duty, Honour_ ," Prince Oberyn quoted. "Well you destroyed her family so why not bind her with duty? But duty does not keep a woman warm at night, does it, Lord Tywin? Women need passion: it's what keeps them alive, I believe."

"Yes, I did hear that your brought your bastard paramour to court."

"Bastardy is not frowned upon in Dorne; there are far worse crimes." Prince Oberyn rounded on Tywin. "Your dwarf son promised justice for my sister, Elia, and her children who were killed whilst you sacked King's Landing."

"Tyrion is no longer the acting Hand of the King," Tywin stated firmly. "Nevertheless, it appears the gods have answered your request; the princess and her children were murdered by Ser Amory Lorch who is now dead."

"How did he die?"

"He was pushed into a bear pit and mauled to death when Lord Roose Bolton and Vargo Hoat seized Harrenhal," Tywin said unemotionlessly.

"I won't say that I weep for him," Prince Oberyn stated, his black viper eyes narrowing on Tywin. "Many people name 'Lord Tywin's mad dog' as Elia and Aegon's murderer."

"A false account. Eyewitness reports claim that Ser Amory was the sole perpetrator, driven mad with bloodlust. He murdered the royal line as opposed to arresting them, as was my order," Tywin said. "If you wish to question Ser Gregor then you may but I do not know when he will return to the capital."

Prince Oberyn flashed Tywin a white smile, looking even more snake-like. "I have waited nearly seventeen years for justice, I can wait awhile longer."

* * *

Catelyn and Sansa sat together on a stone bench in the gardens of King's Landing, Brienne standing guard beside them. The flowers were in full bloom, heavily perfuming the air, but soon they would die as autumn gave way to winter. Sansa had only celebrated two name days when the long summer arrived and although they had endured summer snows in the North, she had no recollection of what a true winter meant. A wall surrounded the gardens, low on their side and merging into the sheer cliff face on the other. Waves crashed upon the rocks noisily below and gulls cried overhead.

Catelyn tilted her head backwards, letting her face soak in the sun's rays and feeling almost peaceful.

"I overheard Tyrion tell one of our maids that you wrote a letter to Robb's bannermen, calling for a ceasefire," Sansa finally said. "He said that the letter was good and he thought the lords would listen."

"I hope so," Catelyn replied simply.

Sansa took her mother's hand within her own and squeezed it. "I think you did the right thing."

Catelyn looked at Sansa and smiled softly but the latter noticed how her mother's smiles rarely reached her eyes anymore, eyes that were always filled with such sadness. Sansa had experienced terrible things but she hadn't witnessed the same horrors that her mother had. That was why she now couldn't leave King's Landing, no matter how many times Ser Dontos urged her to follow his plan.

After her mother and Tywin had left their wedding feast the previous night, Sansa had stolen away to the Godswood where Dontos was waiting for her. She'd told him that she couldn't leave King's Landing anymore and he'd argued that she must.

"My friends will keep you safe, sweetling," Dontos had sworn, his breath smelling of sour wine. "Trust in your Florian."

"You promised to take me home but I have no home to speak of. My mother is here now," she had said. "Don't you see? I can't leave her."

"Once you are away from here and in a safe place, my friends will be able to get your mother out too but you must come first."

Sansa had shook her head. "I don't believe you. When they find me missing Joffrey will torture my mother or worse to find out where I've gone."

Dontos had tried to soothe her with further promises but she'd ducked away from his advances and ran, vowing not to return to the Godswood alone again. She had trusted in Dontos, telling him about the Tyrell's plan to marry her to Willas and he had betrayed that trust by telling someone else who had told the Lannisters. How could she believe that he would keep her safe when it was because of him that she was married to the Imp?

A flurry of activity brought Sansa back to the present as a group of harried looking seamstresses passed, each carrying a bundle of materials as Lady Olenna berated them for their poor selection. Catelyn shook her head in mute appeal.

"I am getting quite tired of weddings," she admitted.

"Hopefully Joffrey and Margaery's will be the last," Sansa said.

They sat in companionable silence but Sansa could feel how bittersweet the moment was. As one of five children, Sansa had often competed with her brothers and sister in vying for her mother's undivided attention and now it was hers completely but at what cost? She would have given anything in the world to return to Winterfell for just an hour or so where she could be teased by Robb, bicker with Arya, play 'Maidens and Knights' with Bran or scold Rickon for letting Shaggydog play too roughly with Lady. She would have curtsied prettily to father and let mother brush her hair. They would have been happy and her mother's smiles would have reached her eyes. The thought left a deep ache inside her and she rested her head upon her mother's shoulder.

Their solitude was broken by Jaime Lannister who walked over to the them with a bundle under one arm, his gold hand glinting in the sunlight. He greeted them each in turn before addressing Catelyn, "My lady, if you would allow me a few moments with Brienne."

"Of course." Her tone was cool but, Jaime thought, less unforgiving than usual.

He led Brienne away from Catelyn and Sansa, closer towards the wall that overlooked Blackwater Bay. The sun glittered on the surface of the water, reminding Jaime of Casterly Rock and the Sunset Sea. He lay the bundle that he carried on to the top of the wall and pulled apart the wrappings. The Valyrian steel shimmered in the sunlight, the red woven through the steel drinking in the light whilst the ruby eyes of the lion's head pommel blazed dangerously.

Brienne stepped closer, admiring the longsword hungrily. "Valyrian steel, how—"

"It's better if you don't ask. My father commissioned this and one other to be reforged from the sword of a past enemy but," he held his gold hand up, "I have little use for it."

"You will learn to fight with your left hand," she told him earnestly.

"Even if my right hand grew back I would still not want this sword," Jaime told her seriously. "I have enough blood on my hands, real and gold, without using the sword of an enemy slain by my house. I want you to take the sword."

Brienne's sapphire eyes widened in surprise. "I can't do that."

"Yes, you can," he insisted. "You deserve this sword far greater than I do. I demand that you take this sword and use it to protect those that you serve."

Brienne glanced to where Catelyn and Sansa sat, enjoying a peaceful respite from the turmoil that their lives had become. She turned back to Jaime. "I heard tales of a Valyrian greatsword once; a mighty sword that accompanied a mighty house. Its name was Ice."

"All the best swords have good names," Jaime told her. "Ice was a good sword but this could be a great one. I have a name already picked for it, too."

"If it's going to be _The Wench…_ " she began warningly.

Jaime chuckled. "No, not _The Wench_ although I like your thinking."

"What then?" Brienne asked curiously.

" _Oathkeeper_."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** Thank you reviewers, favouriters and lurkers - you're continued support means a lot. For the time being I'll be sticking with the weekly updates because I've hit a slight writing snag which I'm trying to overcome but it's not for lack of ideas because this story has plenty of places to go yet. This chapter was written after a previous review by _unnamed visitor_ which inspired me to explore the Tywin/Catelyn relationship a little more and from a different angle. You may find that there's quite a lot of reading between the lines going on which I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Seven**

As Lady Lannister, Catelyn's days passed slowly and were often lonely. Tywin would break his fast with her and leave until supper, performing his duties as Hand of the King. She spent much of her time with Sansa and Brienne but would also encourage her daughter to seek out the company of the friendliest of those at court such as Ser Garlan's wife, Lady Leonette, who was teaching Sansa the high harp. Whilst Catelyn was heeding Tywin's advice in not completely trusting the Tyrell's, she also couldn't deny that it was nice to see Lady Leonette, Margaery and even Lady Olenna fuss over her daughter and treat her with more kindness than she had previously experienced in King's Landing.

She knew that eventually Tywin would retire from his position as Hand of the King and remove them to his seat at Casterly Rock. If Tyrion continued to refuse Sansa's bed, and therefore fail to produce an heir, then she highly doubted that they would ever return to Winterfell therefore Catelyn wanted Sansa to have at least one friend remaining to her in King's Landing.

They often retreated to the gardens — one of the only places of solitude in the Red Keep — with Brienne trailing behind them. It was from the gardens that they now returned, walking through an upper level of the castle where the corridor had a stone wall on one side and open arches, overlooking the courtyard on the other. Sansa bid her farewells before leaving in search of Lady Leonette for another music lesson and Catelyn watched her walk away until she disappeared around the corner.

"Is it wrong to admit that every time she leaves, I fear that it will be the last that I ever see of her?" Catelyn asked Brienne.

"No, my lady, that isn't wrong at all." Brienne's solemnity always spoke of such deep understanding and sympathy without ever pitying her mistress. Catelyn cast the much-taller woman an appreciative smile.

"If the worst should happen, I want you to promise me that you'll protect her — even if that means forsaking me."

"My lady—"

"Promise me, Brienne," Catelyn begged earnestly. Brienne's sapphire blue eyes were soft but resolute as she nodded.

"If I can, then I will protect you both but if not then you have my word."

Catelyn braced her hands against the sill of the wall arches and sucked in a breath. "I'm afraid, Brienne," she admitted quietly. Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. "I'm afraid all of the time that something dreadful will happen to her."

"You have faced many horrors, my lady; I would be more concerned if you feared nothing," Brienne replied. "But from your fear, courage is born."

Catelyn gave her a weak smile and they stood in companionable silence. Below, shouts and cheers carried easily to them as the Kingsguard trained in the upper bailey. Ser Osmund Kettleblack and Ser Meryn Trant circled each other, parrying blows whilst their fellow members laughed and kept score (three points for thrusts to the body, shoulder and face, and one point for everywhere else, she remembered from watching Ser Rodrik train the boys).

"Fifty points if you hit him in the cock!" Ser Boros Blount guffawed, red faced and sweating.

Ser Jaime shouted sound advice to each of the men, directing them as they fought but Catelyn hoped Ser Osmund beat Ser Meryn bloody, still embittered about how the latter had treated Sansa. She glanced across at Brienne who was watching with keen interest but noticed how the Beauty's eyes kept flicking to Ser Jaime, drinking in every word that he said and, she assumed, storing it away for later use.

"What transpired between Ser Jaime and yourself?" Catelyn asked curiously.

Brienne seemed to realise that she had been caught staring and blushed vividly. She stammered when she next spoke, "I… noth—nothing, my lady. I mean, we didn't — we would never…"

Catelyn lay a hand on Brienne's arm in reassurance. "I simply mean that your relationship has changed: when you left Riverrun, Ser Jaime was his usual insufferable self and you seemed ready to throttle him. He has spoken to me of you and it is clear that he respects you deeply," she said. "I have personally held two Lannister captives and both have managed to befriend their guards; the first was a mere sellsword so I was not entirely surprised when his allegiance changed but I am curious as to what happened between Riverrun and here. Ser Jaime is not the same man that he once was and I think that it is your influence upon him."

Brienne studied her for a moment, seeking accusation and seemingly finding none. "He saved me, my lady, when he simply could have left me to die."

"I think you saved each other," Catelyn responded. "And not only in the literal sense."

"Mayhaps. Ser Jaime is a good man, even if he has done much wrong and is only just beginning to realise that. He may not ever be able to right his misdeeds, nor reconcile with those that he has hurt, but he can work at continuing to be a better man."

Catelyn had not missed the way Brienne's head had tilted towards her when she spoke of those that Ser Jaime had hurt. She turned to watch as the subject of their conversation corrected Ser Osmund's sword grip, his golden hand hanging uselessly at his side. "I hope you're right," she said softly. "Better men do not do so well in King's Landing."

"I want you to know, my lady, that Ser Jaime may now be a loosely-termed friend but I owe him no allegiance," Brienne told her. "If it is Ser Jaime that holds the sword that threatens either yours or your daughter's life then I will not hesitate."

"I do not doubt you," Catelyn reassured. "I merely hope it never comes to that; for Ser Jaime's sake as well as your own."

* * *

Since her youth, Catelyn had run the household staff of first Riverrun and then Winterfell; two large castles that required constant maintenance with servants to manage, illnesses and ailments to assist in curing, and the occasional feast to organise. The Red Keep, however, was not her domain and there was many people to perform the same duties that Catelyn had once cherished. Upon first arriving in Winterfell, she had eased the bitter sting of Jon Snow's presence by immersing herself in the the running of the household, swelling with pride when Maester Luwin commented to Ned on her efficiency. Now she missed Winterfell more than she ever would have thought possible. She missed working alongside Maester Luwin and their steward, Vayon Poole; she missed Hullen outlining the progress of the new foals that he knew she doted upon; and she missed taking her place beside her husband, confidante, truest friend and lover. _All of them are dead_. Thinking of her past life brought an intense ache of homesickness and grief that she forcibly pushed aside.

Catelyn decidedly sought out the steward to the Tower of the Hand in his ground-floor office that may once have been a broom closet. The door was propped open by a stack of books and inside was a cramped room with a large desk that spilled paperwork, an overstuffed bookcase and a shelf of candles where stalactites of hardened wax hung. The candles were all burning brightly for there was no window in the room.

Behind the desk sat an owlish man who was tall and thin with a thatch of white hair and brown eyes magnified behind eyeglasses that pinched his nose. The emblem of the Hand was pinned to his black tunic and glinted in the candlelight. She told the steward that she would require the books of account for review and, as an afterthought, added that she would also need a list of Lord Tywin's favourite meals.

The steward looked taken aback by her request before hurriedly closed his gaping mouth. "I should warn you that the books are dull and tedious."

"Nevertheless, they are essential to the upkeep of the tower," Catelyn answered. "This is our home for the foreseeable future and I intend to run it as I would any other household."

"Yes, yes, of course my dear." The steward's movements were disjointed and flighty, further reminding her of a bird. She was so mesmerised by him that she didn't even try correcting his improper use of the more familiar 'my dear' as opposed to 'my lady'. Despite the clutter in the room, the chaos appeared to be organised because the steward never hesitated in knowing where everything that he needed was as he retrieved many leather-bound tomes which he stacked and passed to her. She clutched the books to her chest in both hands.

"Everything there, yes, yes; everything. Take them all for your review." She began to turn to leave when he added, "And venison stew, my dear, is my lord's favourite."

Therefore, when Tywin returned to sup that evening it was to find hot venison stew in a trencher of black bread with a mug of ale awaiting. Catelyn was behind his desk in the solar, her hair spilling across the surface as she poured over the books of account. There had been something comforting and homely about the smell of old parchment and cracked leather. She'd turned only far back enough that she could review the previous expenditure, without straying from Tywin's length of office — she did not wish to find Vayon's familiar scrawl and diligent notes.

Despite being the wealthiest man in the Seven Kingdoms, Catelyn had discovered that Tywin rarely spent money extravagantly and that his most recent excessive spending had been her new wardrobe. Tywin had said that he wanted her dressed 'as befit the Lady of Casterly Rock' and had ignored her protests that she preferred simpler tastes. In the North their options for material had been limited to what was easily accessible and they had dressed for comfort and practicality: warm furs, woollen dresses and dark colours. The seamstresses hired by Tywin clothed her in the finest myrish lace, heavy velvet and cloth of silk whilst the jewellers presented her with intricately crafted earrings, necklaces and rings. She'd hung the garments in the garderobe herself, running her hands over the materials, and wryly noticed how many of the items were Lannister colours.

Accompanying Tywin to court one morning, she'd worn a delicate necklace that contained alternating garnets and sapphires but had nearly ripped the damned thing off when Cersei commented that Catelyn was already benefitting from the wealth of the Rock.

Catelyn set the books and parchment aside and accompanied her lord husband for supper. Tywin raised an eyebrow as she sat across from him. "I see that you have been busy," he commented.

"I'm not one to sit idle," she replied.

"Indeed." Amusement glittered in his eyes as he spooned stew into his mouth. "I gather you met my steward, Ulwyck."

"He's a rather odd fellow," Catelyn ventured to say.

"Yes, I suppose he is," Tywin allowed, "but he is also of a brilliant mind and has run my household single handedly for the last twenty-six years." He hesitated before adding, "I am sure he will appreciate your assistance, my lady."

They lapsed into silence but Catelyn felt that the small amount of self-seized responsibility allowed her to feel slightly less suffocated whilst the preoccupation of a task had eased the constant anxiety and fear that gnawed at her stomach.

* * *

Tywin's patience was thinning as he listened to his grandson make further demands about his upcoming marriage to the Tyrell girl; apparently seventy-seven courses, a singing competition and a dove pie still weren't _kingly_ enough for a royal wedding. Joffrey lounged on the Iron Throne, unconcerned for the barbs and blades whilst Tywin stood on the steps of the dais, hands clasped behind his back, and the other members of the Small Council stood idly around the throne room. He would have preferred having this impromptu meeting in the Small Council chamber but Joffrey had summoned them to the great hall.

"And tell the High Septon not to drone on for so long as the old one did," Joffrey was saying. "No one cares for all of the boring talk. It is supposed to be a wedding, not a funeral. You've had the new crown forged, I take it?"

"Yes, your Grace. The new crown is at least twice the size of the original; the High Septon was deeply humbled," Tywin answered, remembering how the leader of the Faith of the Seven's eyes had lit up in greedy pleasure as he placed the immense golden and crystal crown upon his head. The High Septon had quickly schooled his features into a look of faux-modesty and thanked Tywin profusely for the king's generosity.

"Good. That should stop the rumours that the crown cannot afford to pay its debts," Joffrey stated haughtily. Tywin narrowed his eyes at his grandson, wondering whether Joffrey was actively ignoring the fact that Tywin had personally paid for the crown. It was clear that the boy-king had no notion of how much the crown was indebted to the Iron Bank of Braavos, the Faith and, most importantly, Tywin himself. He continued, "I also think there should be less prayers during the ceremony."

"Your Grace, the prayers are as important to the ceremony as 'all the boring talk'," Tywin stated firmly. "Without either, the ceremony will not be complete and therefore your marriage will not be binding in the eyes of gods and men."

Joffrey made a noise of impatience. "Weddings are such tedious affairs. The bedding ceremony is the most enjoyable part and no one seems to partake anymore," he said, still sour at his failed attempts to humiliate both Sansa and Catelyn on their wedding night's. "How is the wolf-bitch? Is her cunt as tight as Littlefinger claims it is?"

Tywin stiffened and, without turning around, noticed the shift in the room at the king's ringing words. Joffrey was oblivious and laughed spitefully. "Or has the North made it a cold and barren wasteland? If it needs thawing then I can always send her to the Goldcloaks barracks or even have a go myself — my father used to say that women always fell to their knees and begged for a king's cock; he said a king's seed was magic."

The king's future father-in-law, Mace Tyrell, gave a weak chuckle. "A good jest, your Grace."

Joffrey looked at him blankly. "Who said I was joking? I am the king and if I order my grandfather to bring the Lady Catelyn to my bedchamber then he will do so. If I order him to hold her down whilst all four thousand and four hundred members of the Goldcloaks take their turn then he will do so; then we shall see what her cunt looks like."

Tywin climbed the final steps of the dais and drew himself up to his full height, towering over Joffrey. He remembered another king who had taken far too much interest in his lady wife and when Tywin had marched on King's Landing and sacked the city, it had been with a deep sense of satisfaction at finally extracting his revenge. _"From what I hear his cruelty rivals even that of the Mad King_. _"_ Those had been Catelyn's words to him about Joffrey the first day that she had arrived in King's Landing; Tywin hadn't been able to deny them then, no more so than he could now.

"Lady Catelyn is my wife," he stated with menacingly cold fury. "She is also your grandmother through marriage. You will treat her with more respect and never talk to me of her in that disgusting manner again. Do I make myself clear?"

The boy-king clutched each arm of the throne and straightened up, glaring at his grandfather. "You can't talk to me like that; I am the king."

"Do I make myself clear?" Tywin repeated, raising his voice.

"I AM THE—" Joffrey suddenly yelped as a barb on the throne caught his forearm, tearing through material and flesh. The thirteen year old began to whimper pitifully as the golden sleeve of his tunic stained red with blood.

Without taking his eyes from his grandson, Tywin called, "Pycelle!"

The Grand Maester who had been hovering behind, shuffled closer to the dais. "Yes, my lord Hand?"

"Take the king to his room and attend to his arm," Tywin instructed, turning to the elderly man. "Whilst there, remind King Joffrey who the last king was that regularly cut himself on the Iron Throne and the deeds that king carried out."

"I do not need a history lesson," Joffrey spat.

Tywin turned away without replying, ignoring the king's protests and splutters of indignation as he climbed from the dais and marched from the throne room. His anger propelled him through the castle and to the lower bailey where the horses were stabled. Tywin kept two horses for his personal use: a magnificent white destrier for battle as well as a dappled grey palfrey for everyday riding. A stablehand who had accompanied Tywin from Casterly Rock jogged over to greet him.

"Prepare my horse," he snapped.

"Yes, m'lord," the stablehand answered before retreating.

Tywin paced the lower bailey, silently fuming. His attention was diverted, however, by a familiar voice coming from the stables. He neared one of the stalls and stood in the doorway, watching as his lady wife brushed down the coat of his usually mean-spirited war horse. The white destrier stood proud and still as Catelyn worked, humming a tune to soothe the beast as she dragged the brush over his silky coat. She was concentrating so diligently on her task that she failed to notice Tywin's presence and he may have been insulted if he wasn't so enraptured; his usually reserved and closely guarded wife looked entirely transformed as she placed the brush down and patted the horse's neck, expressing sweet words. The destrier snickered and tossed its head up and down, causing Catelyn to laugh.

Tywin frowned; he had always been suspicious of laughter but found that hers was less offensive than most people's. His gut tightened unnervingly.

"Are you determined to take every commoner's job?" Tywin suddenly found himself demanding.

Catelyn's head snapped up at the intrusion and she jumped backwards in surprised fright, one hand clutching her chest. The sudden breaking of the still atmosphere caused the destrier to stamp, kicking a drinking trough to the floor where water gushed out. Tywin stepped back as the water pushed manure and straw in all directions.

"Apologies, my lord, I was startled." The polite and formal mask had slipped into place once more. Tywin felt his frustration rising again but this time he couldn't explain why.

"Can you not find a leisure pursuit more befitting a lady of noble birth?" he snapped.

Catelyn bristled. "Would you prefer I took up needlework and embroidered lions on kerchiefs?" she asked scathingly. "Mayhaps I could add a trout in its jaws and a wolf lying dead at its feet."

Tywin's jaw hardened. He knew that whilst she now bore the Lannister name, at heart his lady wife would always remain a Tully and Stark.

"Did you need something, my lord?" she continued. "Or were you merely spying on me?"

"Spying," Tywin scoffed. "Am I not allowed to inspect my own horse?"

Catelyn looked sheepish at that. "This is your horse? I did not know."

"The stablehand is currently saddling my palfrey and I thought that, whilst I waited, I would ensure that my war horse wasn't wasting away now that we are in a time of peace," Tywin lied smoothly. He would never admit that it was Catelyn, and not the horse, who had drawn him to the stall.

Catelyn stroked the snout of the destrier until he was soothed and docile once more. "Your horse was rearing in the lower bailey when I passed and the stablehands were struggling to gain control of him," she said stiffly, feeling the need to explain. "I only thought that I could offer some assistance so I intervened and then groomed him until he calmed down."

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, broken only by the reappearance of the stablehand. "M'lord," he called from outside the stall, "your horse is ready."

Tywin held his hand out and Catelyn took it gingerly before gathering her skirts and stepping over the river of filth. She immediately dropped his hand once outside the stall and they walked towards where his palfrey was waiting, being held in place by the stablehand. Tywin mounted up and adjusted in his saddle until he was comfortable.

"The king requires me to make a few last preparations for the wedding ceremony," Tywin explained to Catelyn, tugging on the riding gloves that the stablehand offered him. "I do not know how long it will take."

Catelyn nodded mutely. Her expression was guarded and defensive once more but Tywin had seen the unabashed joy on her face in the stable and it had become a closely held secret. He took the reins from the stablehand but held the horse steady as Catelyn began to speak.

"If being in the stables displeases—"

"You do not displease me," Tywin cut her off gruffly. A frown puckered her brow and her usually blue eyes were a stormy grey as he gave her a curt nod of farewell. "My lady."

Tywin kicked his heels into the horse's flank and set the palfrey on a trot across the lower bailey. Passing beneath the portcullis he could feel Catelyn's eyes on him, stronger than the sun beating at his back, and causing his gut to clench again.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** I finally managed to break through the writer's block and complete chapter ten which was causing me so much trouble. I think it may have been because there was so much to cover in one chapter that I kept shying away from it but eight pages later and it is finally complete so hopefully things will run a little smoothly from here on. For now, we have chapter eight which I hope you will enjoy.

As always, thank you to everyone for your continued support - it really does make my day.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Eight**

She dreamt that she was walking in the Wolfswood by Winterfell. It had begun to snow, flakes settling upon the shoulders of her cloak and her breath plumed in front of her. Brown leaves crunched underfoot but otherwise a heavy silence hung over the forest. The thick trees parted to reveal a clearing where two gigantic weirwood tree's stood, their branches interlacing to create a blood red canopy overhead and their faces carved in ominous disapproval.

" _You don't belong here_ ," a voice whispered on the wind.

In the parting between the two trunks she saw the back of a man as he walked through the forest, fur cloaked with a sword at his side and a shaggy head of coppery hair bowed in contemplation. A smoke-grey direwolf padded along silently at his heels.

"Robb," she tried to call but her voice was hollow and flat. "Robb!"

Her pace quickened as she attempted to reach him but, despite her laborious efforts, the gap between them lengthened. All too soon she was alone in the forest once more.

"Robb, _please!_ "

From somewhere far away a lone wolf howled mournfully.

* * *

It was the turn of the century, three hundred A.C., and a joyous occasion for the Lannister's. Catelyn felt her anxiety spike as she walked into the Queen's Ballroom on Tywin's arm. The tarnished silver mirrors along the walls multiplied the Lannister's and male Tyrell guests a hundred times, distorting and warping their images until they looked bestial and grotesque. The honoured guests, all due to break their fast with King Joffrey on the morning of his wedding, milled leisurely through the ballroom.

Admittedly, Catelyn and Tywin looked a splendid pair and many guests bowed respectfully as they passed. She wore one of her finer new gowns; a red linen skirt with a velvet bodice, intricately embellished with goldthread, garnets and pearls. The bust, hemline and sleeves were all layered with black lace and she wore soft, black slippers. Tywin had chosen an outfit that complimented hers, wearing a red doublet embroidered with a prancing lion, black breeches tucked into leather boots and the chain of office around his neck. He had also insisted that she wore some of the more ostentatious jewellery, wrapping a golden necklace around her throat that morning whilst she sat at the vanity and reminding her that this was her first public appearance as the Lady of Casterly Rock.

Ser Kevan stepped up to speak with his brother and Catelyn avoided his gaze as he avoided hers. Unbidden, memories of Ser Kevan's son, Willem, rose to the surface, peaceful even in death as he lay beside his cousin, Tion Frey, after being murdered by Rickard Karstark and his men. She saw Sansa enter the hall with Tyrion and quietly excused herself.

Pushing her way through the gaggle of guests and musicians, Catelyn finally reached her daughter and good-son. It was clear that Tyrion was already well into his cups, his eyes bloodshot and watery.

"Lord Tyrion," she greeted pointedly. She knew that her lord husband would not be pleased if Tyrion made a spectacle of himself by getting drunk but moreover she had hoped that Tyrion would stop his ceaseless drinking in favour of looking after her daughter.

"Mother, always a sight for sore eyes," he declared, beaming at her. "Now, if you will excuse me there is a cupbearer somewhere in this room who is about to receive a very large tip."

Tyrion waddled away and Catelyn sighed, her lips tightening in disapproval before bestowing a bright smile upon her daughter. She took Sansa's hands in her own and squeezed them.

"You look lovely," she said, admiring the way the amethysts in Sansa's silver hairnet matched the gown she wore.

Sansa blushed prettily at the compliment. "Thank you."

They took their seats for the breaking of the fast that included Dornish eggs, honeycakes baked with blackberries and nuts, and a sweet golden wine but Catelyn noticed that Sansa ate even less than she did whilst Tyrion merely drank heavily from his cup. Before long, Mace Tyrell stood to announce that, as per tradition in the Reach, it was time for the guests to present gifts to the bridegroom. The Lord of Highgarden began by giving his future good-son a magnificent golden chalice and puffing up with pride when Joffrey declared that he would drink from it during the wedding feast.

Cersei followed Mace Tyrell's example by shaking out a richly decorated, if somewhat ragged, maiden cloak in Lannister colours. A fearsome lion had been embroidered on the cloak in goldthread. "This was the cloak that I wore when marrying your father," Cersei explained to her eldest son, "and the same cloak that my mother, Lady Joanna, wore when she married my father. All _true_ Lannister women wear it."

The pointed barb missed its target as Catelyn had no wish to wear a cloak that had been draped over the dowager Queen's manipulative shoulders and doubted that her daughter would either. Joffrey received many gifts from a handsome bow and arrow to a red silk tourney pavilion to silver spurs. The boy-king received all of the presents graciously, thanking each guest with polite courtesy until Tyrion presented his and Sansa's gift. A large, dusty tome was lain on the table before Joffrey.

"A book?" Joffrey sneered.

" _Lives of Four Kings_ ," Tyrion explained, "is a detailed history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good by Grand Maester Kaeth. It's not as pretty as a golden chalice, I'll grant you, but far more useful to a king."

There was silence within the hall and Tyrion shifted between one leg and the other before Joffrey finally answered, "You're right, Uncle; thank you."

Tyrion's eyes narrowed with suspicion before he slowly returned to his seat. More gifts followed before Tywin finally offered their gift to the king: a sword encased in a scabbard of cherrywood, gold and oiled red leather. Joffrey stood to unsheathe the sword and brandished it, making it whistle through the air and allowing the light to fall on the blade that shimmered red and black. Joffrey threw back his head with a bark of laughter, his eyes wild with unconcealed bloodlust.

Tywin, who had resumed his seat beside Catelyn, told the king, "The blade is Valyrian steel, your Grace, reforged from the relic of a House of old."

The guests began shouting for Joffrey to name the sword but Catelyn stiffened, her fingertips taking hold of Tywin's wrist. "Ned's sword?" she demanded to know in a mutter.

Before Tywin could answer Joffrey was laughing again. "Yes, _Widow's Wail_ , I like that one. A most befitting name."

The laughter died as Joffrey whirled around and hacked _Lives of Four Kings_ to pieces. When finished, the boy-king was breathless with exertion and he turned to a horrified Tyrion. "Oh dear, Uncle, it appears there has been some kind of mishap with your gift."

Tyrion carefully schooled his features into a mask of indifference. "No matter, your Grace, I will simply have to find another gift for you. I can't help but admire that beautiful sword that my father gave you. Mayhaps you would like a dagger to accompany it; Valyrian steel, naturally, but with a classic dragonbone hilt?" Catelyn frowned at Tyrion but he carefully avoided her gaze. "I hear Valyrian daggers are capable of scarring many an enemy."

"Why stop at a mere scar?" Joffrey sneered. "I would finish the job and slit their throats."

Only then did Tyrion look at Catelyn, his mismatched eyes fixing upon hers before flicking away. A lump formed in her throat as Joffrey's implicating words hit her and she knew what Tyrion was attempting to suggest. _Bran is dead,_ she forcibly reminded herself, _and trying to avenge his attempted murder before had led to a civil war._ Mace Tyrell was announcing that it was time for them to travel to the Great Sept of Baelor for the wedding and Catelyn followed the tide of guests blindly.

In the courtyard, Tywin offered his hand to Catelyn as she climbed into their litter but she ignored him. Once inside, they sat stiffly in strained silence. She watched the city pass by from the window, seeing all that she had missed when brought to the Red Keep. The populace had crowded the streets, all craning their necks to watch the royal procession.

"You're angry," Tywin stated, inspecting his impeccably clean nails with maddening casualness.

She turned to him, infuriated. "Are you surprised? You melted down Ned's sword and reforged it for that spiteful brat."

Tywin raised an eyebrow at her slight about the king but he made no comment; she wondered whether Joffrey's display with _Lives of Four Kings_ was the cause of Tywin's stilled tongue. "Valyrian steel is increasingly hard to come by," he explained instead. "I made the decision that the sword would be put to better use if reforged."

"That sword is an heirloom of House Stark, it belongs—"

"House Stark is dead!" Tywin snapped with finality. They glared at one another.

"You need not remind me," she said quietly and turned away to look out the window once more. There was a pregnant pause before she spoke again, softly, "I would kill every last one of you if it could bring my family back."

The marble plaza outside the Great Sept of Baelor was crammed with smallfolk eager for a glimpse of nobility and royalty but, mostly, of Margaery Tyrell whom they already considered to be their beloved queen. Many were reaping the rewards of a royal wedding with tradesmen setting up stalls to sell goods, whores boldly propositioning potential customers and thieves looking for unsuspecting victims. The crowds were held back by the City Watch, creating a golden barrier beneath the blazing sun.

Their litter finally stopped at the steps and they climbed out, Catelyn grudgingly taking the arm that Tywin offered. She knew that her duties as his wife overrode the issues in their marriage.

* * *

The Great Hall was lavishly decorated in a magnificent blend of Baratheon gold, Lannister crimson and Tyrell green. A mass of entertainment including jugglers, mummers and a troupe of Pentoshi tumblers filled the hall, inspiring awe in the guests as they mingled before the feast and exclaimed at how wonderful the wedding ceremony had been. Catelyn had stood in the first row beside her husband but, if specifically asked, she wouldn't have been able to describe a single moment. Her own wedding to Tywin had been a blur but at least she could still remember key moments. The only specific that Catelyn could recall from this ceremony was that halfway through she had realised that the thumb of her left hand was idly stroking the crushed velvet sleeve of her lord husband's doublet as he held it in the crook of his arm and that this had somehow soothed and distinguished the silent fury within her.

Now, in the Great Hall, they were approached by Jalabhar Xho who grinned and took her hand to kiss it. He kept her hand within his. "Your daughter is very charming."

Catelyn smiled her truest smile since arriving in King's Landing and cast a glance at Sansa who was being fussed over by Lady Olenna. "She has always strived to be a perfect lady," Catelyn said. "Her Septa used to tell her that a lady's armour was her courtesy."

"Then I hope she never removes her armour."

Jalabhar Xho moved on and Catelyn noticed that Tywin was looking at her with a peculiar expression on his face; she was going to inquire about it when the herald announced that the feast was to begin. Joffrey and Margaery sat in places of high honour beneath the Iron Throne whilst the Tyrell's sat on their right and the Lannister's on their left. Margaery was passed between them (Cersei, Tommen, Tywin, Catelyn, Jaime, Tyrion and finally Sansa) as they kissed her on each cheek whilst Joffrey suffered the same with the Tyrell's. More prayers were said, toasts were made and finally Joffrey called for the first of seventy-seven courses.

Catelyn honestly didn't know how anyone could eat so much food and only took small bites from each dish. Cersei dominated her father's attention whilst Jaime sat silent and brooding, his eyes constantly alert as he surveyed the hall for any signs of trouble so Catelyn was left in solitude. She listened to the minstrels as they competed for the gilded lute promised to the best performer and would have needed both hands to count how many times _The Rains of Castamere_ was sung, so far. Strangely, the song didn't affect her as it once had and she wondered whether being tormented with it at her own wedding had cured her from feeling anything when it played.

Further down the table, Tyrion drained his wine cup as the seventh, or perhaps it was the eighth, minstrel plucked his harp and began to sing in a clear voice, _"I loved a maid as fair as summer…"_

He signalled for the cupbearer to pour him more wine. "If I am to be subjected to listening to this infernal song then I need to at least be drunk," Tyrion told no one in particular.

"You do not like this song, my lord?" Sansa asked from beside him, polite and quiet.

Tyrion grunted and drank deeply. _I was married to a maid as fair as summer and now I am married to a maid as red as autumn. Mayhaps my next wife will be a maid as white as winter._

His thoughts strayed, as they so often did, to his first wife, Tysha, who had sung so sweetly and played her role so convincingly. She had looked at him with more warmth than he had ever known in his life and he had craved it, ignorant to every lie that fell from her lips. His current wife could barely look at him, let alone give him any warmth. Tysha had allowed him to forget that he was merely a dwarf whilst every look and word from Sansa was a constant reminder. His new wife was yet another lesson of his father's.

" _I loved a maid as red as autumn with sunset in her hair,"_ the minstrel crooned.

Glancing down the table, he could see that both Sansa and her mother were watching the minstrel intently as though losing themselves in the entertainment could protect them from the wreckage of their lives. It was a surprise to realise that he wasn't the only one with thoughts upon their wife; his lord father sat as rigid as ever in his seat but his eyes had wandered to the Lady Catelyn with a softer expression than Tyrion had ever seen on his face. It was well known that their marriage was one of political strategy - already Houses had ceased fighting and sworn fealty to Joffrey following Catelyn's plea - but it surprised Tyrion to realise that his father may be learning to care for the former Stark matriarch.

* * *

It was beginning to get late and they were still only two-thirds of the way through the seventy-seven courses. Moonboy, the court jester, had donned a pair of stilts and was wobbling through the tables whilst the knight-turned-fool Ser Dontos was pulling silver stags from behind the ears of guests before flipping the coin into the air. When he did it to Sansa, the coin landed in Ser Jaime's cup of wine and Dontos knocked the cup over in his haste to retrieve it. Catelyn had now lost count of how many times _The Rains of Castamere_ had been sung.

Joffrey stood and raised his hand for silence. "My lords and ladies, I would like to thank you all for celebrating this most joyous occasion with us today. Food has been eaten, wine has been drunk and entertainment has been enjoyed but let us not forget that today is a moment of history." The doors to the Great Hall were pulled open. "Therefore, I present to you a piece of our own recent history: The War of the Five Kings!"

Five dwarves galloped into the hall, as the herald announced them, "King Joffrey, Renly Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, Balon Greyjoy and Robb Stark!"

The guests laughed delightedly and clapped their hands together as the dwarves, each costumed to represent their character, flooded into the floorspace. Catelyn felt her stomach clench and hot tears prick the backs of her eyelids as the dwarf wearing a wolf's head bowed before her and yelled, "I'm the King in the North!"

Wine spewed from the king's mouth as he laughed ecstatically and the jousting of the dwarves began. In a sea of laughing faces, Catelyn could easily pick out those who were not so amused: Ser Loras, Prince Oberyn, Lady Olenna, Lord Varys… She wondered how they looked at their table with Cersei tittering cruelly and Tommen giggling because he didn't understand the implications whilst the rest sat silent. It was not lost on her that Joffrey had hired dwarves for this spectacle as opposed to mummers, further insulting the uncle that he hated.

The dwarf-Joffrey and dwarf-Robb were the only two jousters left. They met in a clash of blows, trading colourful insults, before the latter dropped to the floor with his wolf's head knocked off and cheers eclipsed the Great Hall. The dwarf-Joffrey bowed to the crowd, picked up the wolf's head and began thrusting into it, grunting with pleasure. Images flickered before her: savage shouts of _"Here comes the King in the North!"_ ; the wolves howling whilst Bran lay broken; Ned sat beneath the weirwood, cleaning his bloodied sword; brushing Sansa's hair as she sat on a stool by the fire; the mingled look of outrage and surprise on Tyrion's face as she called for her father's bannermen to seize him; watching Jon Umber declare Robb as his king; the tears on Roslin's face as they led her towards the bedding; Arya running into her bedchamber prepared for Septa Mordane's punishment, only to find her mother present too; King Robert's party riding into Winterfell; Robb's heartbreak as she attempted to negotiate herself for his life, _"No. Mother, no…"_

A hand covered her own and she realised that she was gripping her cutlery tight enough to turn her knuckles white. She released her grip slowly but Tywin kept his hand atop hers, whether in comfort or warning she did not know.

Joffrey had risen again and was clapping loudest of all. "It appears we have a winner!" he declared, indicating the miniature version of himself. "Except, there is still one dwarf in this room who you haven't beaten. Uncle, I believe everyone would like to see the same prowess that you displayed during the Battle of Blackwater."

Tyrion clambered to his feet stiffly. "Your Grace, I am sure that the good people here would certainly like to see my battle courage however this man before you is clearly the king of dwarves and, as you like to frequently inform me, it is treason to strike my king."

A nervous smattering of laughter greeted his words.

"I _command_ you to fight him," Joffrey insisted.

The disgraced knight, Ser Dontos, took Tyrion's hand and lifted it. "The King's Champion!" he declared.

Tyrion wrenched his hand free of the fool's and gestured between Joffrey and the dwarf-Joffrey. "You are a king and he is a king, perhaps it would be more thrilling for you two to joust. Meanwhile, I would rather be left to enjoy the wine."

Joffrey sauntered over to where Tyrion stood, stumbling drunkenly with the golden chalice in his hands. Margaery signalled for the next minstrel to begin playing in an attempt to draw the attention of their guests but no one could miss Joffrey pouring the half-filled chalice of wine over his uncle's head. "I hope you enjoy the wine, too."

Catelyn felt Tywin tense, his hand gripping hers more tightly, at his grandson's embarrassing display.

"A true honour," Tyrion answered with dignity.

Joffrey looked as though he would choke on his rage. "An _honour_?" His face smoothed out slowly. "Fine, I will give you another: you will be my cupbearer for the rest of the feast, Imp, and if you fail in keeping my chalice filled then it will be your wife who faces punishment."

Catelyn started but Tywin's hand insistently held her in place. No one was smiling now.

"Then I will not fail," Tyrion stated icily, reaching for the chalice. Before he could take hold of it, Joffrey let the vessel slip through his fingers where it clattered to the floor, rolling beneath their table.

"How clumsy of you, Uncle."

Tyrion ducked beneath the table to retrieve the chalice whilst Tywin announced the arrival of the pie. The guests began cheering and clapping as the immense dove pie was wheeled before their king who turned giddy as he retrieved his new sword and, together with Margaery, brought _Widow's Wail_ down upon the golden crust. A flurry of white feathers filled the throne room as the dove's made their escape, flying up into the rafters whilst the guests cried out their admiration and hot pie was served to each of them.

Margaery fed the pie to Joffrey and Catelyn forced down a few bites before setting it aside, thinking it dreadfully dry. Joffrey's thoughts seemed to mirror her own because he next called for wine from his cupbearer. Tyrion waddled over, looking uncomfortable in his sodden and sticky clothing but keeping his head held high with dignity as he lifted the chalice in two hands and offered it to his king.

Joffrey took the goblet and drank deeply, the purple wine dribbling down his chin. He shoved the chalice back into his uncle's hands and accepted more pie from his queen, fixing his gaze hungrily upon hers.

"My king," she purred.

"My—" he cut off, coughing violently, pie crust and saliva spraying from his mouth. "Wine," he gasped, snatching the chalice from Tyrion's hands and attempting to drink from it. Another fit of coughing brought the wine back up and Margaery began shrieking.

"Help him! He's choking!" she cried.

Ser Jaime leapt from his seat and vaulted the table, running towards the boy-king. Ser Garlan had reached Joffrey first and was pounding on his back whilst men shouted advice over each other, none of which made sense in the rising pandemonium. Cersei was wailing as she reached her son and Joffrey collapsed into her arms, his face turning purple and his fingers clawing at his throat.

Tywin had reached the steadily growing crowd that stood around Joffrey and began commanding the scene. His empty seat separated Catelyn from Prince Tommen who was screaming and crying so she gripped the young boy's arms and pulled him to standing, telling him not to look. Tommen was shaking violently as he buried himself against her and she could feel his tears soaking through the material of her dress. She searched for Sansa in the chaos and found her stood with Dontos.

"Sansa!" she called. Her daughter glanced her way before shaking her head at Dontos and hurrying towards her mother. Catelyn held her hand out and Sansa took it, allowing herself to also be pulled closer into the embrace with Tommen. Sansa clutched at her mother's arm with one hand, the other pressed to her mouth in horror as they watched Joffrey convulse. The boy-king's eyes were bulging, the muscles of his neck taut and blood was gushing from his nostrils.

Cersei's grief-stricken scream tore through Catelyn because no matter what she thought of the king and his mother, she would always remember how it felt watching her son die. Sansa heaved a dry sob and Catelyn held her closer whilst Tommen continued to cry pitifully. She glanced over at Tyrion who looked dumbfounded, still holding the golden chalice. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before pouring the last of the wine to the floor.

When the terrible screaming finally stopped, Tywin's calm voice cut through. "It is over, Cersei. The boy is gone."

Jaime prised the Queen Regent from her son's — _their son's_ — body and she collapsed against him, crying. The High Septon began his prayer and Tommen looked up at Catelyn through tear-stained green eyes, flecked with gold.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Tommen whimpered.

Catelyn couldn't speak so simply nodded and Tommen clutched at her harder.

" _Get away from him!_ " Cersei suddenly screeched. Catelyn thought Cersei was screaming at those crowded around Joffrey's body until she saw the green, lioness eyes fixed upon her. Cersei lifted a finger to point accusingly at them. "It was them. They did this; they poisoned your king! Them and the dwarf. Get them away from my son before they kill him too. Arrest them, arrest them all!"

Her incensed words were punctuated by the rasp of swords being drawn.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** Thank you for the reviews! Sorry for the cliffhanger but hopefully it wasn't too painful a wait and the end of this chapter hopefully makes up for it.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Nine**

The Kingsguard had swiftly jumped into action. Tyrion was already apprehended, two swords crossed at his neck by Ser Loras Tyrell and Ser Boros Blount, when Prince Tommen and Sansa were wrenched from Catelyn's grip. Sansa was held almost gingerly by an unarmed Ser Osmund Kettleblack but Ser Meryn Trant was not so cautious. His gauntlet bit into Catelyn's upper arm as he pulled her bodily from around the table and pressed his sword point threateningly into her navel. Brienne's sword was half drawn but Catelyn gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head in warning.

Tywin marched towards them and said with chilling authority, "Unhand my wife at once."

Ser Meryn glared but did as told, releasing his grip roughly and sheathing his sword. Tywin turned to Ser Osmund. "The girl, too."

"What are you doing?" Cersei demanded. "Are you honestly going to stand there and protect them? They have murdered my son!"

"There will be a full investigation into Joffrey's death," Tywin stated firmly.

"I want justice!" Cersei screamed, turning red with rage.

"And you shall have it." Tywin turned to face his youngest son who was avoiding Ser Loras and Ser Boros' blades. "I, Tywin of the House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West and Hand of the King do hereby arrest Tyrion of the House Lannister for the crimes of regicide and kinslaying. You will be held in the dungeons where you will await trial. Take him, now."

Ser Loras and Ser Boros sheathed their swords and took Tyrion beneath each arm, dragging him from the throne room as the dwarf shouted in indignation. Catelyn pressed a hand to her husband's chest. "He is your son," she murmured in reproach.

"Do not interfere," he warned coldly. He turned to where Ser Kevan stood. "Escort the Lady's Catelyn and Sansa to each of their chambers and place a guard that you trust outside. Do not let anyone enter without my leave," he instructed.

"Very well."

Ser Kevan ushered them from the hall, a few of his personal men and Brienne following. Catelyn glanced over her shoulder, her brows knitted in confusion, and saw Tywin still watching them as they left, something unfathomable darkening his gaze. Catelyn and Sansa were tightly packed between the guards and Catelyn could feel her daughter trembling as silent tears tracked down her pale cheeks. She took Sansa's hand and held tightly. They were led out through the castle and onto the upper bailey where they would have to separate.

"This way, my lady," Ser Kevan said. Catelyn began to pull away but Sansa's grip tightened with distress.

"No!" Sansa begged, her blue eyes filling with dread. "No, Mother, please, don't go!"

"Sansa, it's going to be fine," Catelyn gently reassured.

"No, it's not," Sansa moaned, crying harder. "This is what happened last time: they locked me in my chamber for days and when they finally let me out everyone was dead and Father had been arrested for treason!"

One hand cupped Sansa's face, the other gripped the back of her head. Catelyn matched her daughter's eyes with her own. "Sansa, I promise you that _will not_ happen again," she swore earnestly. "Nothing bad will happen to you but you must go with these men now. You must do that for me."

Sansa whimpered, the fear still prominent in her large blue eyes. Catelyn pulled her close and kissed the top of her head before nodding to Ser Kevan and his men who gently separated them. As Sansa was led towards her apartments atop the Kitchen Keep, Catelyn turned to Brienne and the younger woman seemed to know what she was about to ask.

"Go with them," Catelyn urged desperately. "Make sure nothing happens."

Brienne gave a curt nod. "Yes, my lady."

Dread coiled in Catelyn's stomach as she watched them leave. She glanced down and realised that Sansa's silver hairnet was entangled in her fingers, having pulled free when they were separated. Her lips pinched together as she thought of Sansa's distress.

"Why is he doing this?" she demanded as she followed Ser Kevan towards the Tower of the Hand. "Why stop Cersei from having us arrested if Tywin planned to separate us and place us under house arrest like criminals?"

Ser Kevan released a dry, humourless chuckle at her words. "Has it not occurred to you that he is locking you away for your own safety? Tywin knows how Cersei's mind works; he would not put it past the Queen Regent to orchestrate the murders of you and your daughter. My brother may come across as heartless and cruel but he protects those that he cares about."

They began the ascent to hers and Tywin's chamber. "So by locking Sansa and I away, Tywin is hoping to take care of Cersei by removing temptation and therefore save her from herself," Catelyn summarised.

Ser Kevan stopped abruptly and Catelyn nearly walked into him. He fixed her with a peculiar look. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but it wasn't Cersei I was referring to."

They continued in silence until they reached the Hand's apartments where Catelyn stepped inside. She turned back to Ser Kevan and saw the tired lines that marred his face, deepened by grief, and wondered if her own face mirrored his. She was forcibly reminded once again of his murdered son and it seemed Ser Kevan's thoughts were following the same thread because he said, "If anything happens tonight, I hope I can protect you better than your son's guards protected Willem."

"I hope so, too." She was about to close the door when she blurted out, "He was trying to grow a beard. He looked peaceful, as though he had been sleeping when he was killed, and he was trying to grow a beard..."

She trailed off after repeating herself and silence descended. Ser Kevan looked pained and grief-stricken but there was also something wistful in his expression, as though imagining one of his twins with blonde fuzz on his chin. "Thank you," he finally said quietly before shutting the door between them.

* * *

Catelyn sat in the solar at Tywin's desk, the worry eating at her as she continued to finger the delicate and, she suspected, deadly silver hairnet. The sconces on the walls were casting long shadows when the door finally opened and Tywin stepped in. If he was surprised to see her at his desk then he did not show it.

"What's happening?" she asked, hating the way her voice sounded thin and weak.

"Two maesters have examined the body and confirmed that Joffrey died of poisoning. Tyrion has been taken to a relatively comfortable cell where he has his squire for company and I have asked Mace Tyrell and Prince Oberyn to sit in judgement with me for the trial."

"What if Tyrion demands a trial by combat?" Catelyn could easily recall Tyrion's trial in the Vale that had resulted in the sellsword, Bronn, killing Ser Vardis Eggen.

"Then Cersei will name Ser Gregor Clegane as her champion," Tywin answered matter-of-factly, already anticipating Tyrion's move, "and no mere sellsword will defeat him. Now, did you murder the king?"

"No," she answered curtly.

"Did you conspire to murder the king?" Tywin questioned.

"No."

"Did you touch the chalice that the king was drinking from?"

"You know I didn't," she said.

"Do you know how the king was poisoned?"

Catelyn hesitated before finally answering, "Possibly."

Tywin's jaw rocked but he said nothing, allowing her to continue.

"If what I am about to tell you is true then I need you to promise me that you'll protect Sansa," she wagered.

"Are you telling me Sansa is the culprit?"

"Of course not," she dismissed. "Sansa isn't capable of murder. I think Joffrey's killer knows Sansa though and used her." Catelyn held the silver hairnet up. "Sansa was wearing this hairnet with amethysts today except I don't believe they're amethysts at all. One of the stones is missing and in the empty socket is a black smudge; I think this may have been how the poison was smuggled into the wedding."

Tywin strode over to her and took the hairnet, inspecting the stones and the empty socket. He placed the hairnet on top of his desk, retrieved his dagger and used the blade to pop another stone out of its socket. Catelyn stretched to watch as he dropped the crystal into a cup of water where it began to dissolve into nothingness.

"They say poison is a weapon used by cravens, eunuchs and women," Tywin mused but Catelyn followed his meaning.

"Sansa did not do this," she told him firmly.

"I'm sure Cersei would deny half of the things that Joffrey did, too," Tywin stated. "This proves that Sansa had access to the poison used to murder the king that she despised. She will stand trial with Tyrion."

"No, please Tywin," Catelyn begged. She stood to face him. "You cannot do this."

"Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do," he snapped dismissively. "It is my duty as Hand of the King to dispense justice - _particularly_ when a king has been murdered. Sansa will stand trial."

"I did it," she said with desperate determination. "I murdered Joffrey."

Tywin's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. "You have never struck me as being foolish, Catelyn; do _not_ start now."

"I told you in the litter today that I would kill you all—"

"And that is precisely why I know you did not do it!" Tywin thundered. "Words and actions are two very different things and you would not have said them if you were plotting the king's murder. I know that you love your daughter but Cersei loved her son and justice must be served."

 _Justice was served_ , a bitter voice whispered. Her lower lip began to tremble as she carefully held the tears back. "Please, Sansa is all I have left."

Tywin picked up the hairnet and marched from the solar, the door slamming behind him. Once he was gone, the tears flowed freely and Catelyn buried her head in her hands, already mourning the loss of another child.

* * *

Sansa's hands fluttered when she was nervous. She was smoothing down her skirt, fiddling with the ends of her hair, picking at a thread on her bodice. Lord Tywin sat across from her at the table where she and Tyrion shared meals, his cool eyes fixed upon hers. She felt as though she were drowning. _I wonder how mother copes with him_.

Thoughts of her mother brought back all the rules of hospitality that had been impressed upon her from a young age and yet she'd neglected once trapped beneath his unrelenting gaze.

"Would you like some wine, Lord Tywin? Or mayhaps some food?" she asked, feeling pathetically childlike. "I can send one of my maids to the kitchen's — they're not far, you know."

"No thank you, my lady." Tywin laid the silver hairnet that she'd worn to the wedding on the table. "Do you know what this is?"

"It's a hairnet: it's my hairnet, I believe." Sansa had realised upon returning to her apartments that the hairnet was missing but she highly doubted that Tywin would take such an effort as to personally return it to her. "Where did you find it?"

"Your lady mother had it," Tywin answered.

"Mother? How is she? Is she safe? Is she well?" The question's burst forth before Sansa could remember her manners. She saw something dark pass across Tywin's face before he finally answered.

"Your mother is fine," he said stiffly.

 _You're lying,_ she wanted to say but was too scared to. Instead, she said in a small voice, "Good. That's good."

"What are the stones?" Tywin asked. "They're very unusual."

"They're black amethysts from Asshai," Sansa answered. Fear for her mother spurned her to say, "Forgive me, my lord, but I don't believe you came here merely to ask about my hairnet."

"You would be correct in saying so. Do you know how King Joffrey died?" Tywin asked.

"The Queen said he was poisoned," she answered.

"And what do you think?" His green eyes were still fixed unnervingly on hers.

"I don't know, my lord. I don't think the Queen was lying."

"No, my lady, Cersei wasn't lying." He glanced at the hairnet. "Where did you get this?"

"It was a gift," she answered doggedly.

A muscle twitched in Tywin's cheek. "A gift from whom?"

Sansa hesitated, her feelings clearly torn, so he pressed further, "This is important, my lady. This is no ordinary hairnet; the black amethysts, as you called them, are actually a rare poison called _the strangler_. The crystals are dropped in liquid where they dissolve, causing the drinker's throat to close, their skin turns purple and blood begins to seep from their body." From the horrified expression adorning her face, Tywin knew she recognised the symptoms. "At the moment, I know of only two people who handled this hairnet: you and your mother."

Sansa shook her head wordlessly, turning very white. "My mother wouldn't…" She glanced at the hairnet, her resolve strengthening. Dontos had betrayed her once: she could betray him to protect her mother. "It was a gift from Ser Dontos Hollard. He told me to wear it to Joffrey's wedding and that it contained magic; he told me it would take me home."

 _Come to the Godswood tonight, if you want to go home_. The truth spilled from trembling lips as Sansa told Tywin about saving Ser Dontos' life, about the secret note and meeting him in the Godswood, about him having friends who could take her home, and then about her refusal to leave once her mother had arrived in King's Landing.

Tywin remained impassive throughout her tale. When she finished, he finally said, "And yet you still wore the hairnet."

"I didn't know about the poison but I didn't want to hurt Ser Dontos' feelings by not wearing it," Sansa admitted. "Mother always said that a lady shows her appreciation for gifts, even if she doesn't particularly like them — she'd always tell Arya that when she turned her nose up at a gift and called it 'girly'."

At the mention of her dead sister, a pain-filled expression flitted across Sansa's face and Tywin was beginning to find it difficult to believe that this maiden with her guileless blue eyes could be capable of assisting in murder — no matter who the victim was.

"Did Ser Dontos kill Joffrey?" Sansa asked in a small voice. "When the king was on the floor, struggling to breathe, Ser Dontos told me that it was time to leave but then my mother called my name and I knew I couldn't abandon her."

"Ser Dontos is certainly involved," Tywin admitted. "My lady, do you know who the friends were that Ser Dontos mentioned?"

"No, he never spoke their names."

Tywin picked up the silver hairnet and ran it through his fingers absentmindedly. "I need you to think carefully, Lady Sansa: was there anyone who paid particular attention to your hairnet?"

"I… I don't know. Mother mentioned it when we broke our fast this morning, Jalabhar Xho touched it when he kissed me on the cheek, Margaery… er, Queen Margaery commented on the interesting stones, Lady Olenna fixed it when the wind caught my hair and… and Ser Dontos touched it when he pulled the silver stag from behind my ear."

"Yes, I remember," Tywin said, "he made a spectacle of himself by knocking Jaime's wine over."

Tywin became silent and thoughtful. It was clear that Dontos was involved but that didn't necessarily absolve Tyrion. Lost in his thorny and tangled thoughts, it took a moment to realise that Sansa had spoken to him.

"My lord," she repeated and looked up at him with eyes so painfully similar to her mother's. "What happens now?"

* * *

Catelyn had moved from the solar into their bedchamber some time ago and sat on the edge of the bed, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth and staring unseeingly ahead. She'd plaited her hair into a single braid as well as changed into a shift and her green robe but sleep still alluded her. A shiver ran down her spine and she rolled her neck, trying to relieve some of the tension that had built in her shoulders.

The candle on the bedside table flickered and she glanced over her shoulder, seeing Tywin stood in the doorway. He was wearing the same expression that she'd seen in the Great Hall, dark and unfathomable

"My brother says you have been demanding to see Cersei," Tywin said.

"If you will not take my confession seriously then your daughter will," she replied flatly.

"And what exactly do you expect Cersei to do? She is the Queen Regent, _former_ Queen Regent to be specific. I am the Hand of the King and Lord Protector of the Realm until Tommen comes of age; _my_ word is law."

"Then do something!" Catelyn pleaded, standing up and crossing the room to where he stood. "Sansa is your good-daughter."

"And Tyrion is my son but if a crime has been committed then justice must be served," he told her firmly. He paused before continuing, "But, as it happens, I have spoken to Sansa and ruled that she is innocent. She is just a girl who was used by those she thought were friends. She will not be charged and she will not be brought to trial."

Catelyn's face broke with relief. She threw her arms around Tywin's neck and breathed into his ear, "Thank you."

Tywin stood stiffly, hesitating. Catelyn's thoughts belatedly caught up with her actions and she slowly lowered her arms from around his neck. Her teeth were tugging at her lower lip again as she rested her hands against his chest. A mumbled apology rose within her but she forced it back down.

"I was merely carrying out my investigation," Tywin said.

"No, you weren't."

Tentatively, Catelyn brushed her lips against his. They hadn't kissed since the wedding ceremony, the action feeling too intimate for two people whose relationship was such a complicated mess. Yet this kiss somehow felt right. An insistent hand pressed into the small of her back and her fingers fisted at his doublet as their kiss deepened, his tongue demanding entrance and sweeping inside her mouth. Tywin's lips moved across hers with confident ease and she responded in kind.

A whimper escaped her as Catelyn felt the arousal stir low in her belly, awakening after much too long. They'd lain with each other most nights since their wedding but their coupling had always been with a sense of obligation and duty, satisfying but never quite pleasurable.

Her hand tugged at the laces of his breeches before reaching inside and taking hold of his cock. She worked him slowly until he grew to full hardness and Tywin groaned, breaking away from her mouth. His breaths were harsher and his pupils had dilated until they almost encompassed the green. He pushed the robe from her shoulders, leaving her only in the thin sleep shift that did little to hide her womanly figure.

Catelyn fumbled with the lion head clasps on his doublet as Tywin left a distracting trail of kisses on her neck, his whiskers scratching against the soft skin of her throat. The sensation was both familiar and foreign and she realised that, apart from Petyr when they were children, she had never kissed a man who didn't have facial hair. The last clasp finally came undone and she removed the doublet from him before running her hands over his shoulders, down his chest, circling a nipple and then lower still. She trailed her fingers through the tawny hair that ran from his navel to beneath his breeches, watching with satisfaction as the muscles jumped beneath her hands.

Tywin took her by each wrist and pinned them to her sides before pressing his lips insistently against hers once more. He walked her backwards until she bumped into the bed where he directed her to sit on the edge of the feather mattress, craning her head back to keep their lips joined. Wrenching his mouth away, he knelt between her legs and lifted her shift up from the hem. Tywin dropped the material so it gathered mid-thigh but his hands, callused from gripping a sword for the majority of his life, continued upwards to graze her inner thigh. Finally, he found her warm womanhood.

The pad of his thumb rubbed circles against her clit and she hummed in approval, her eyes fluttering closed. Tywin ran a finger along her slit before pushing two fingers into her and Catelyn released a soft cry, her breath turning sharper. She knew that she must look desperately wanton with bruised lips and eyes feverish with desire but Ned had never minded and she was beginning to think that Tywin didn't either. His fingers pumped inside her and his thumb continued to firmly rub her clit whilst his other arm snaked around her waist, drawing her into him. If this had been a battle of wills then she knew that he was winning seamlessly.

Catelyn kissed Tywin again, capturing his bottom lip between her teeth. Craving more, she pressed a hand to his chest and gently but insistently pushed him away. Rising to his feet, he took her shift in his hands again and guided it over her head as she lifted her arms, allowing the thin garment to be flung away. Catelyn scooted backwards across the bed as Tywin removed his breeches, his cock standing swollen and prominent.

Tywin climbed on to the bed beside her and she took hold of his shoulders, urging him to lay down before slinging her leg over him and straddling his waist. Tywin raised an eyebrow in surprise at her bold move, amusement glittering in his eyes. Catelyn let her hands roam over his lean body again, avoiding his gaze. Ever since Brandon's passing, her life had been built around Ned; she had not expected to lie with any other man but then she had not expected to be widowed and remarried by the age of five and thirty, either. The rest of her life was a long time to go wanting.

Tywin reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. It was such a small, tender gesture that it spurred her into action. She took hold of his cock and led him to her warm entrance. Breath stuttering, Catelyn sank down onto Tywin and he clenched his jaw as they finally joined together intimately. His hands ran up her thighs and gripped her hips whilst Catelyn's hands returned to his shoulders, bracing herself as she adjusted to his full length filling her so completely.

She took control, an adventurous feat when bedding Tywin Lannister, riding and falling upon his cock slowly, letting only the tip remain before sheathing him again. A shuddering breath escaped from Tywin as one hand left her hip to ghost up her body until he found her teat. His fingers flicked and twisted, turning the rosy nipple hard and Catelyn moaned, quickening her pace. Tywin released a grunt and began thrusting his hips, matching her rhythm as she rode him.

Catelyn dug her blunt fingernails into his shoulders and her husband silently mused that her loved ones had been correct in naming her 'Cat' - a monicker he would never dare use. Her braid fell over one shoulder, the end tickling against his ribs. Her eyes were closed and mouth slanted open as soft, breathy moans escaped from between her lips. In one swift movement, Tywin curled his upper body and took her nipple in his mouth, teeth and tongue rolling over the bud. Catelyn chuckled, having known that he wouldn't be able to resist being out of control for so long. In retaliation, he bit the inside of her breast, causing her to hiss in a mixture of pain and pleasure, before running his tongue over the flesh and tasting the beads of sweat that peppered the skin.

One hand went upwards, cupping the side of her neck, the thumb tracing over her lips whilst the other snaked between them, rubbing furiously at her clit. The action caught Catelyn by surprise; Tywin had never concerned himself with her release during their coupling before. Tonight was different, however; she was warm and willing within his arms, something that neither of them had ever thought would be possible, and an animalistic instinct had taken over.

Their thrusts became shorter and more powerful whilst the hand between them became insistent. She realised that she was sucking on his thumb, the pad pressed firmly against her tongue, and released it so that she could give a sharp cry as Tywin angled himself, hitting a particularly sweet spot. He gripped the back of her head and pulled Catelyn's face towards his, demanding another kiss. Their tongues duelled for dominance and he won, as she knew he would.

"Let go," he commanded, growling against her lips and she willingly obeyed. Her cries were shallow and breathless as her body trembled over his and Tywin follows her into oblivion with one final thrust, flooding her womb with his hot seed.

They clung to each other, regaining their equilibrium, and Tywin rested his forehead on her sweat-dampened chest. It rose and fell sharply with each breath and he could feel the thud of her heart beneath. Slowly, he lay back down, taking Catelyn with him. She gingerly eased off of her husband and tucked herself into his side, resting her head and one curled fist against his chest.

Most nights, they had lain stiffly beside each other but tonight she was reluctant to leave the envelope of his arms. Like so many other things, his embrace was different to Ned's but not altogether unfavourable. Tywin, for his part, had not had a woman lie in his arms since his beloved Joanna had died and yet he found that he enjoyed Catelyn's weight and presence. Bizarre as it was, they had each found comfort and safety within the arms of their enemy.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** Here is the mammoth chapter that I was struggling with for so long - as it was such a struggle, the chapter may not be the best but I hope you enjoy it regardless and that it sets up enough for the next story arc. As always, a huge thank you from the bottom of my heart to my lovely reviewers, favouriters and followers!

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Nine**

If the black dress that Val clothed Catelyn in was any indication, then the Lady Lannister was supposed to be in deep mourning for King Joffrey. She was struggling to conjure such an emotion, however. Catelyn would tell herself that Joffrey was just a boy: a boy who hadn't yet reached his fourteenth name day when he was brutally murdered. Then she would think of how Joffrey had ordered Ned's head to be struck from his shoulders after promising mercy. She would think of his veiled threats to rape Sansa. She would think of her suspicions that it was Joffrey who had hired the assassin to murder her sweet Bran. Joffrey may have been a mere boy of thirteen but he'd been made of nothing but malice, spite and hatred — the cruel spawn of incest.

Somewhat surprisingly, even Tywin was unnervingly composed and seemed unfazed that his eldest grandson had been murdered. He broke his fast on eggs, bacon and Dornish wine as though this was the beginning of any other day. They'd risen later than usual following their eventful evening, finally falling asleep close to dawn, and Catelyn found herself stifling another yawn.

"Tired?" Tywin asked, eyebrow quirked in amusement. She didn't answer but felt the flush creep up her neck as she nibbled at the eggs, the feel of Tywin's lips still branded on her skin.

There was a knock at the door to the solar and Tywin bid their visitor to enter. Ser Kevan stepped inside and stopped before them, nodding to each in turn and then pressing on without preamble. "Ser Dontos' body was caught in the net of a fishing boat this morning."

"Drowned?" Tywin asked.

Ser Kevan gave a quick shake of the head. "He was beaten and full of quarrels: both knees, through the back of one hand and through the neck."

"Cersei?" Catelyn asked her lord husband. "Or one of his supposed 'friends'?"

"If Cersei was aware of Dontos' involvement then he would have been on the rack by now, awaiting a more public and painful execution." Tywin looked thoughtful. "The placement of the quarrels suggests that Dontos was either tortured for information or punished."

"Punished for what?" Catelyn asked, even as the fear thudded through her. Tywin fixed her with a look, softer than his usual gaze and mayhaps even sympathetic. "Sansa…"

"Sansa was required for a reason; I do not believe the people that employed Ser Dontos merely wanted to spirit her away out of kindness," Tywin stated. He turned to ask his brother, "Where is the girl?"

"Still within her apartments," Ser Kevan answered. "The Lady Brienne has kept her vigil all night and my guard is also on the door. Ser Dontos left the castle alone so I think it is safe to assume that his co-conspirators are not within its walls. Cersei is adamant that the castle's security be upped; she's doubled the amount of Goldcloaks on duty and tasked Jaime with ensuring that the castle is secure. In truth, this is to protect Tommen however it will also deter the people that Ser Dontos worked for and make it hard for them to infiltrate the Red Keep."

"So does this mean Tyrion is innocent?" Catelyn broached.

Tywin's look turned hard. "No."

"But Ser Dontos—"

"Ser Dontos did not touch Joffrey's chalice," Tywin stated. "He may have been tasked with spiriting Sansa away but only a fool would trust him with murdering a king. It is highly likely that Tyrion is the mastermind behind this whole plot: he had the motive, the opportunity and the means. He will still stand trial."

"If you think that best, my lord," she replied, distant and formal.

Ser Kevan dismissed himself and they sat in contemplative silence. Catelyn had felt some of the fear subside upon hearing that Brienne was still guarding her daughter: she had every faith that her sworn sword would keep Sansa as safe as any of them could possibly be. Catelyn pushed the remainder of her eggs around the plate before finally setting her cutlery down. Tywin was watching her. "You're still not eating properly," he commented.

"I'm not hungry," she said, her stomach roiling.

He didn't press the subject. "If you are finished then we should attend the sept. The silent sisters would have laid Joffrey's body in state this morning."

Catelyn hesitated. "I don't believe the Queen Regent will welcome my presence."

"Joffrey was related to you, whether you enjoy that fact or not," Tywin reminded her sharply. "Your absence will be noted if you do not attend. We are currently attempting to convince everyone that you and your daughter did not plot with Tyrion to murder your king so you will accompany me to the sept where we will pay our respects."

"Yes, my lord." Tywin eyed her easy concession suspiciously and she gave him a small smile. "I'm too tired to argue with you."

Catelyn drained her cup of wine to steady the fluttering in her stomach before rising from the table. Tywin donned his sword belt and she placed the livery collar over his head, letting the chain of linked hands rest against Tywin's black surcoat. She took his proffered arm and he led them from their quarters.

The rest of the castle were also respectively wearing black, all except the Goldcloaks and Kingsguard. The Royal Sept was filled with mourners; a sea of black that ebbed and flowed through the place of worship whilst keeping a wide berth around where Joffrey lay on a central plinth, his gilded armour glittering in the candlelight. Towering over him like a sentinel of death was Cersei, weeping silently as she gazed into her eldest son's ruined face. Her golden hair tumbled over her shoulders in disarray. Tommen stood sombrely beside her, avoiding his brother's body by staring at his feet and trying to stand as still as possible. Catelyn had thought the crown placed upon her own son's head had been a burden at fourteen but Tommen was barely eight and would soon be King of the Seven Kingdoms.

"This isn't something a boy of eight years should be forced to look upon," Catelyn commented, nodding in the direction of Tommen and Joffrey's body.

"It will build character," Tywin said.

"It will build nightmares."

Sansa approached them, shadowed by Brienne. The former's anxious face broke into an expression of relief upon seeing her mother. "How are you?" she immediately asked.

"I'm fine," Catelyn reassured her. "A little tired after the events of yesterday but otherwise well. How are you feeling?"

"Better now that I've seen you," Sansa admitted. She gave a nervous bob of the head to Tywin. "My lord."

"My lady," he greeted curtly. "Excuse me."

Tywin walked away from them and towards his daughter and grandson. Cersei barely acknowledged her father as Tywin approached. He addressed Tommen, seemingly asking him questions because the prince's cherubim face screwed up in concentration when he spoke. Catelyn noticed that, with his attention diverted, Tommen's face had lost some of its queasy, green pallor. Tywin glanced in her direction and she met his gaze briefly before focusing her attention on Sansa.

"Ser Dontos…" Sansa began saying quietly but Catelyn gave her a quick shake of the head, stilling the young woman's tongue. Catelyn knew from her conversation with Tywin and Ser Kevan that not many people were aware of Ser Dontos, and therefore Sansa's, involvement in the king's poisoning and it would be safer if that fact remained a secret for a while longer.

"It is always a sad business when a king dies," Lady Olenna announced. Catelyn turned to find the elderly woman stood behind her, one wasted arm wrapped around her granddaughter's shoulders. The young Queen's eyes were red-rimmed and glassy with unshed tears but widowhood seemed to suit her. Margaery was the picture of loveliness in a flatteringly cut gown of black samite.

"We're very sorry for your loss," Catelyn said to the twice-widowed maiden.

"Thank you," Margaery sniffled.

"How are you feeling, child?" Lady Olenna asked Sansa. "It must be simply awful having a husband accused of regicide and kinslaying."

Sansa faltered before quietly agreeing. "Yes, my lady; it is certainly hard."

"Well fear not," Lady Olenna told her, "we know that wives cannot be held accountable for the actions of their husbands. My great oaf of a husband proved that. When the Imp is found guilty and Ser Ilyn extracts his justice, you will be free to marry someone more suitable. I take it your virtue is still withstanding?"

Flustered by the question, Sansa glanced at her mother before giving a small nod.

"Good, that's good," Lady Olenna said, giving Sansa a fond smile. The wizened woman turned to Catelyn. "And how is married life suiting you?"

Catelyn graced the Queen of Thorns with a fixed smile. "As well as can be expected."

"Yes, I can imagine." Lady Olenna eyed her pityingly before her gaze slid towards Tywin. "Not many people would bear marrying their captor with such grace."

Catelyn didn't respond; the Queen of Thorns' words may have been a compliment but Catelyn felt her spine stiffen at the insinuating barb. Luckily, Margaery's cousins descended upon them and began fussing over the widower so Catelyn and Sansa were able to slip away.

Once out of earshot, Brienne declared, "What an insufferable old bat!"

"Careful," Catelyn cautioned, despite the smile Brienne's words had brought to her lips. "That is the would-be-queen's grandmother."

"That makes it no less true, however." The three women spun around as Ser Jaime joined them, his gait fluid but his face full of weariness. Catelyn recalled aloud how Cersei had entrusted Jaime with securing the castle.

Jaime winced. "'Entrusted' may be a strong word, my lady. In truth, Cersei is furious that the Kingsguard let her son die and her anger is particularly pitted at me."

"It was not your fault, Ser Jaime," Catelyn found herself saying.

Jaime seemed as surprised as Catelyn felt. "It is kind of you to say so," he replied stiffly, neither confirming nor denying her words.

"Have you spoken to Tyrion?" Brienne asked.

"Yes; he's adamant that he didn't poison Joffrey." Jaime sighed with reluctance before turning towards Sansa. "He has named you as a witness in the trial, my lady."

"Me?" Sansa turned pale at the prospect.

"You are the only witness that he has requested," Jaime told her. "I believe he thinks that, as his lady wife, you may be able to convince the court of his innocence."

Or implicate herself in a lie, Catelyn thought but held her tongue. If Tyrion hoped to convince Tywin, Mace Tyrell and Prince Oberyn of his innocence then he would need another person to assign guilt to and who better than the traitor's daughter that Joffrey publicly abused and shamed?

"Do you know who Cersei has named as her witnesses?" Catelyn asked.

"I hear that she is still compiling her list," Jaime answered.

She couldn't say that she was surprised; Cersei would do everything in her power to ensure that the brother she so despised paid for Joffrey's murder, convinced as she was at his guilt. Catelyn also knew that gold, loyalty and promises of future betterment could buy many a testimony. She would fear for Tyrion if she wasn't so suspicious of his motives in using Sansa.

"Thank you for letting us know, Ser Jaime."

He bowed to them before walking away and Sansa immediately turned towards her, looking troubled. "What do I say? What do I tell them?"

"Tywin is presiding over the trial with Mace Tyrell and Prince Oberyn," Catelyn told her daughter calmly. "If you do not have a testimony prepared then they will ask you questions and you simply answer them honestly. If you do not know an answer then tell them so. You have done no wrong, Sansa, and Tywin knows that."

Sansa nodded resolutely and took Catelyn's arm as they toured the sept, walking amidst the other mourners. Despite the sobriety in the room, most did not look overly upset at Joffrey's death although Lollys was openly sobbing into a kerchief. Many of the courtiers avoided them but Catelyn noticed them whispering behind cupped hands as they passed. Gossip, betrayal and jealousy had always been at the heart of court life and formed the main reasons why Catelyn had desperately avoided it.

They had toured the room once when Tywin approached them, steering Tommen beneath his arm. The young prince bowed to each of them in turn. Catelyn noticed that Tommen was still visibly distressed from witnessing his brother die but he didn't seem to fear her, as she had worried he might after Cersei's outburst the evening before.

"My ladies, it would please me greatly if you would join me in my solar for supper this evening," Tommen said with rehearsed seriousness. "I believe this to be a time when we should surround ourselves with family."

The solemnity broke as the prince gazed at them with earnest hopefulness and Catelyn couldn't help but smile at him softly, reminded so forcibly of Bran. Her second son had always been so thoughtful and sweet-natured but he had also been tougher than Tommen, with an excitement and thirst for adventure. How many times had Bran insisted on following the elder boys as they ramped through Winterfell and the Wolfswood, gaining skinned knees like badges of honour, only to return with a fistful of wild flowers that he had picked for her? Joffrey had been cruel and Tommen was soft but with the right moulding, the latter could become a wise and good king.

"You do us a great honour, your Royal Highness," Catelyn responded, smilingly. She suspected that the supper was Tywin's idea; a way to present them as a united family and therefore dispel any court rumours.

Tommen puffed up happily before he seemed to remember the occasion. "Thank you, my lady. I'll look forward to it all afternoon."

She overheard Jaime suggest to the High Septon, who had been residing over the occasion, that Cersei have a private moment with her son. Next, the tide of mourners exited the Royal Sept and spilled out onto the sunlit courtyard. Some of the schemers in court milled around, ready to pounce on Tommen and offer their condolences whilst eyeing Catelyn and Sansa with suspicion.

"If you will excuse us," Tywin addressed his grandson, "the Lady Catelyn and I have some important business to attend to. Lady Brienne, would you escort Lady Sansa back to her chambers?"

"Yes, my lord."

The foursome branched off in opposite directions. Catelyn held onto Tywin's forearm and resisted the urge to lay her head on his shoulder, as sleepy as she felt. "I cannot abide most of the people that attended today," he admitted once they were out of earshot of the others. "I have had enough of hearing how honourable my grandson was and how shameful his murder was."

"You do not think his murder shameful?" she asked.

He cut her with a sharp look. "Of course I do. He was my grandson and my king…" he said brusquely before turning contemplative, "but that did not make me blind to his faults: he was as lazy as King Robert, as cruel as Maegor I and as mad as Aerys. Joffrey was not even fourteen and he had more enemies than most full-grown men. Am I surprised that he was murdered?"

He left the question hanging as they walked. She realised that they had entered the lower bailey as opposed to returning to the Tower of the Hand as she had expected them to. At their approach, a stablehand hurried into one of the stalls and returned moments later leading a beautiful chestnut mare with a white blaze towards them, already saddled and bridled.

"M'lord, m'lady," the stablehand greeted with a grin. Catelyn looked at Tywin in askance, an eyebrow quirked in confusion.

"It's yours," he said stiffly.

Catelyn stared at him, dumbfounded, before slipping her arm out of his and approaching the mare who nickered softly. She reached out a hand, that she was ashamed to admit was trembling with barely contained excitement and shock, to stroke the white blaze whilst the horse eyed her with affectionate warmth. Catelyn bit her lip, touched by the gift but unsure of how to express herself; she had not expected Tywin to treat her with anything other than a formal, polite coolness that befit a wife who knew her duty and performed it well.

"Would you like to ride her?" Tywin prompted and Catelyn gave a swift nod, the joy cutting across her face.

The stablehand would have run to fetch a mounting block for Catelyn to use but she mounted the horse fluidly and unaided, sitting astride the magnificent beast. She arranged her skirts before taking the reins from the stablehand and setting the chestnut on a trot and then a canter around the lower bailey, learning the mare; it had certainly been well-trained for she obeyed Catelyn's commands at the slightest pull of the reins or squeeze of her legs. The wind whipped past, blowing Catelyn's hair backwards and the sense of freedom was exhilarating. Finally, she slowed the horse to a walk and guided her back towards where Tywin was waiting.

Tywin had watched the whole process in satisfaction, knowing he had made the right decision. The same expression that Catelyn had worn that day in the stables had returned to her face, unmarred by the grief and fear that settled just below the surface. Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure, her blue eyes shone brightly whilst her chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath — she looked happy and alive and whole.

The stablehand returned, leading Tywin's own palfrey by the reins. Tywin climbed atop his horse and led it towards his wife, stopping beside her so they faced each other. "I was hoping that you would join me in touring the wharfs. Lord Tyrell has been overseeing the building of ten new war galleys which will replace those lost during the Battle of Blackwater and I would like to inspect the progress made." Catelyn looked hesitant but Tywin guessed why. "Sansa will be safe; she has Brienne guarding her and you will see her this evening at supper."

Catelyn nodded. "Very well, I will join you."

She turned her horse and they trotted towards the barbican. The portcullis was drawn slowly, creaking loudly, as it rose enough to let them pass beneath and then closed swiftly behind them. They crossed the mostly empty courtyard and Catelyn found it difficult to imagine the area crammed with hungry people all begging for food, as she'd heard had been the case during the War of the Five Kings. Guilt stabbed through her; she knew that poverty and hunger were an unfortunate circumstance of war as refugees fled to safety but that didn't mean that she was blind or ignorant to their suffering.

"You do not ride sidesaddle," Tywin observed, breaking the silence.

"I find it uncomfortable and inconvenient," Catelyn remarked honestly. "My septa would complain that sitting astride a horse was 'most unladylike'."

Tywin couldn't suppress the snort that burst forth. He gave her a pointed look and Catelyn blushed, glancing away as she recalled how it had felt to sit astride Tywin during their coupling. It had been a bold move, she knew, and she could imagine the horrified indignation that would have played across her septa's face.

"You needn't flush so; I rather enjoyed your advances."

She glanced at him and saw that there was definite mirth within her husband's gaze. They joined Shadowblack Lane and took its winding route down to the bottom of Aegon's High Hill, moving slowly and carefully. The chestnut was surefooted, despite the steep decline and uneven cobblestones, and Catelyn felt at ease upon the horse's back.

"You're a natural rider," Tywin complimented.

"You would not think so if you had seen Arya upon a horse," Catelyn said, hearing the pride in her own voice. "Sansa has always disliked riding but Arya rode as though she were part of the horse itself…" Catelyn trailed off, the once pleasant memories turning painful. She changed the subject, saying brightly, "I shall have to think of a suitable name for this one. What is your horse called?"

Tywin looked at her blankly. "My palfrey."

Catelyn bit the inside of her lip to stifle a smile. "And your warhorse is called…?"

"My destrier," he answered stiffly.

Catelyn nodded seriously, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Ah, I see."

Tywin shifted in his saddle and asked testily, "Would you name the rats in the kitchen, too?"

"Men name their swords," she countered with a pointed look.

Tywin chose not to answer and they rode in silence but, despite her teasing, Catelyn found the silence to be companionable as opposed to prickly. They finally reached the bottom of the hill and plodded along The Hook: a much busier thoroughfare that would lead them to the Mud Gate. Naked children ran ahead of the horses, screaming with laughter, clotheslines were suspended between the buildings and a woman hung out of a first floor window, beating a rug against the outer wall so dust rained down from above. In a shadowy doorway, a group of men stood and stared as they passed. Catelyn drew her horse closer to Tywin's, suddenly feeling very exposed: yesterday there had been rejoice in the city as they travelled in the litter towards the Great Sept of Baelor as members of the royal procession, welcomed by the smallfolk but also guarded by the Goldcloaks. Today, suspicion and fear after the murder of Joffrey coloured King's Landing and put them in a much more vulnerable position.

"It feels as though a storm is brewing," Catelyn commented quietly.

Tywin glanced at the group of men wearing dark, mutinous looks. "It will pass," he told her with firm surety.

They reached the Mud Gate without incident and passed beneath the still battered gate, pressing through to the wharf. Even now, the signs of battle was evident along the dock; the ships that usually spread down the Blackwater Rush were grouped more closely together and fewer in number compared to the last time she had been in King's Landing. If Edmure had not unwittingly foiled Robb's plan in cutting off Tywin's arm before he could reach King's Landing and provide aid against Stannis then how different might their lives be now?

They turned their horses towards the line of partially constructed warships and she noted how Tywin adopted his most lordly face, transforming into the Hand of the King.

* * *

Supper was a strained affair. In addition to Tywin, Catelyn and Sansa, Tommen had invited Cersei who sat in sullen silence and drank heavily, a brooding Jaime, Ser Kevan and Queen Margaery, who appeared to have easily cast off her woes of womanhood as she laughed and jested with the young prince. The more Margaery laughed, the more Cersei's scowl deepened. To everyone's surprise, Tommen had requested that Catelyn and Tywin be seated on either side of him and the former suspected that, had the dowager queen not been so wrapped up in grief for her eldest son, Cersei would have been more furious and vocal about the arrangement. They ate in relative silence, making the barest of small talk.

Sansa was seated between Margaery and Ser Kevan. "How is Ser Loras?" she asked the latter politely.

"He grows a little stronger each day," Ser Kevan said, although the grief still marred his features.

"I'll include him in my prayers," she said, politely ignoring Cersei's little scoff of contempt. Catelyn smiled at her daughter, proud of her show of dignity and grace.

"Do you think I will be a good king?" Prince Tommen asked his grandfather, sounding as though he was carrying on from a previous conversation.

"If you listen to counsel from your advisors, as I mentioned in the sept earlier today," Tywin answered, "then I believe you could be a good king, yes."

"A wise king," Tommen said, nodding with all the seriousness that an eight-year-old could muster. "In my lessons, Grand Maester Pycelle has been coaching me on the houses in Westeros."

"An important aspect of ruling," Ser Kevan said. "A good king makes it his business to know who his subjects are; particularly the most ancient and noble houses."

"So what is my house, my prince?" Margaery asked, beaming at Tommen.

"House Tyrell, Lords Paramount of the Mander. Your sigil is a golden rose on a field of green and your words are _Growing Strong_." Margaery clapped her hands together in approval and Tommen grinned shyly.

"That's good but how about a lesser known house?" Tywin tested. "What is House Penrose?"

"A brown field with two crossed quills," he said slowly, "and their words are… _Set Down Our Deeds_?"

"Correct."

Tommen visibly deflated with relief. It became a game, the names of noble houses being thrown at the prince who answered, sometimes promptly and other times with gentle encouragement. Even Jaime was less subdued although Cersei remained stubbornly silent and continued to drink, refill and then drink from her cup again.

"House Arryn?" Ser Kevan asked.

" _As High As Honour_ and their sigil is a blue falcon on a white moon on a blue field."

"House Hornwood?"

"A field of orange with a brown bull… no, a moose, a bull moose!" Tommen said, looking to Catelyn for confirmation who nodded, smiling. "And their words are _Righteous in Wrath_."

"House Lannister," Jaime requested with a grin.

"That's easy!" Prince Tommen laughed. "A golden lion on a crimson field and the words are _Hear Me ROAR!_ "

"Ah, but how about your grandmother's house?" Jaime jested, still grinning. Joanna Lannister had died long before Tommen had been born and he wondered whether the young prince would realise that, as a first cousin to his grandfather, the house sigil and words would be the same.

"A silver trout on a field of blue and red—"

"No!" Cersei finally broke her silence and all the smiles died. The Queen Regent glared at her youngest son as Tommen shrank back in fear. She pointed a long, shaking finger at Catelyn but her eyes never left her son's as she spat, "That woman is not your grandmother!"

"Cersei," Tywin said warningly.

"No!" she repeated and stood, swaying on the spot. Catelyn realised that Cersei was drunk and, if the tightening of Tywin's mouth was any indication, so did he. The supper guests looked uncomfortable and embarrassed. "Don't you dare," Cersei hissed at her father. "Don't you dare defend her as you did when my son was murdered."

"You are making a spectacle of yourself," Tywin said.

"Good," she snapped peevishly. Cersei looked to her brother Jaime for support and Catelyn expected him to jump to his sister-lover's aid but Jaime remained silent and impassive. A look of deep betrayal crossed Cersei's face before she marched from the prince's solar in a whirl of billowing skirts.

The tentatively easy atmosphere that had grown during the game with Tommen had been broken and it was a relief when Tywin suggested that they all retire for the evening. Catelyn took Tywin's arm and they returned to the Tower of the Hand but Catelyn found herself at a loss for words; she stubbornly did not feel the need to apologise and yet, without an apology, she feared that the slow progress that she and Tywin had made in their marriage would be lost.

"Are you angry, my lord?" she asked tentatively.

"No," Tywin said, "and, in truth, even if I were angry it would not be at you. Cersei has always been prone to hysterics."

They slipped into silence again as they exited Maegor's Holdfast and crossed to the tower, taking the spiralling steps to their apartments. Once inside, Tywin poured them each a cup of wine as Catelyn sank gratefully into a chair, already feeling the effects of riding a horse again for the first in a long time. Tywin handed her one of the cups before sinking into another chair and she sipped the wine, feeling the warmth flood her belly.

Tywin was quiet and contemplative. He had often lain the blame of his family's dysfunction at Tyrion's feet and yet, even with his youngest son removed, the problem was not eradicated.

"Once Tommen is crowned we will begin Tyrion's trial," Tywin said conversationally, looking up at his wife. Catelyn, however, was sleeping in the chair. Her head lolled to one side and she was still clutching the half-filled cup of wine. He could see the dark circles bruising the delicate skin beneath her eyes and knew that the last couple of days had left her exhausted. Tywin finished the last mouthful of his wine before setting the cup down and reaching across to gently extract Catelyn's from her hand.

Also placing this on the table, Tywin stood and, moving very carefully, pulled Catelyn to standing before scooping her up into his arms. His wife rested her head against his shoulder as he shifted her weight in his arms before carrying her through to their bedchamber. Catelyn was so light that Tywin was reminded once again of how worryingly thin she was. In their bedchamber, he laid her down on the bed before swiftly disrobing her so that she lay only in her shift. He folded the black gown over the back of a chair before grabbing the turned-down furs and covering her with them.

He retreated, as if to return to their solar, when her hand reached out to catch his wrist, claiming his attention. "Thank you for the horse," she mumbled sleepily and was fast asleep before he could answer.

Something affectionate swelled in his chest as he looked upon her. Tywin hesitated before rounding the bed, shedding his own clothing and then slipping beneath the furs. Catelyn lay on her side so he pressed himself flush against her, moulding their bodies together and wrapping an arm protectively around her waist.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** Hello everyone! I apologise for the delay in updating but it has been a manic few days - end of term has left me absolutely shattered plus I went out with some friends last night and got rather merry, shall we say, so today it's been a mix of nursing a hangover, Christmas shopping and sleeping! Not a bad way to start the holidays, though! I now have a couple of weeks off before returning for the new school year so hopefully I can get quite a bit of writing done.

I know I say this every week but a huge, marvellous thank you to all of you that are following this story - it's always wonderful to hear from you and it makes my day when I see that someone else is joining this journey with us.

* * *

 **The Lady and the Lion Fair**

 **Chapter Eleven**

Warm sunlight spilled through the high, narrow windows of the throne room, casting upon the many upturned faces. The cavernous Great Hall was filled with people as they watched the coronation of Prince Tommen. The High Septon held the golden crown aloft as he spoke the sacred words, "…May the Warrior grant him courage and protect him from these perilous times. May the Smith grant him strength that he might bare this heavy burden. May the Crone…"

A flash of fire caught Tywin's attention. He stood on the steps of the dais with Cersei but a frown puckered his brow as Catelyn slipped into the throne room from a side door, losing herself amongst the crowd. His frown deepened and his mouth set in a firm, grim line as Grand Maester Pycelle also shuffled in through the same door and joined the end of the one of the many rows.

"In the light of the Seven, I now pronounce Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Long may He reign."

"Long may He reign," Tywin echoed with the rest of the court. Cheers and clapping eclipsed the Great Hall as the High Septon placed the crown on Tommen's curls. Cersei remained rigid and stony-faced beside her father.

The court turned into a long procession that snaked around the throne room before finally climbing the dais where each person would bow reverently to their newly crowned king. Tywin oversaw the procession, his eyes restfully turning back to Catelyn who now joined the queue with Sansa and Brienne. Tommen sat on the edge of the throne, shying away from the blades as he nodded politely to each of the well-wishers, hurriedly tipping his head back as the crown slipped from his brow. Catelyn finally reached the dais and ascended to the throne, carefully avoiding Tywin's gaze, and frustration gnawed at the pit of his stomach.

When Catelyn curtsied to the new king, Tommen's face broke from the polite reservedness to a beam, his eyes dancing delightedly. She offered the boy of eight a few quiet words of encouragement and, when Tommen nodded enthusiastically, reached out a hand to straighten the crown. It was a bold move to touch a king without invitation but Tommen seemed pleased with the motherly gesture.

She gave him an affectionate smile before the procession moved and she descended the steps once more. At the base, she was led with Sansa towards the gallery that overlooked the throne room. The parade finished with the members of King Tommen Baratheon's Small Council who took their seats at a table, facing the crowd. Slowly, and then all at once, a hush descended upon the Great Hall, thrumming with anticipation.

"Bring in the prisoner." Tommen's high, quavering voice rang out across the still hall.

The large bronze doors were opened and Ser Addam Marbrand entered with a dozen goldcloaks, all surrounding Tyrion who was bound in fetters that clinked as he walked. A wooden dock had been erected for the trial and Tyrion climbed into it, sitting on a hard bench to await justice. Tommen rose and the court rose with him.

"I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of My Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms," the boy-king pronounced with practised solemnity, "do hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King and Protector of the Realm, will sit as judge in my stead. With him, Prince Oberyn of the House Martell and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. If found guilty, may the Gods punish the accused."

Tommen was led away, out of the throne room, and Tywin took his seat upon the Iron Throne whilst Prince Oberyn and Mace Tyrell took less grand seats on either side of him. For a moment, Tyrion's face had softened as he looked upon his nephew who now bore the heavy burden of being king, but Tywin's son now glared upon him with steely determination.

The High Septon called a prayer, asking for the Father Above to guide them to judgement and Tywin saw Tyrion's mismatched eyes narrow even further at the irony.

"Tyrion of the House Lannister, you stand accused of regicide and kinslaying: how do you plea?" Tywin asked grandly.

"Not guilty," Tyrion stated with no hesitation.

"Do you know who did kill King Joffrey?" Tywin asked.

"The Gods. From what I saw, he choked on his dove pie — a sad business, to be sure, but not an act of murder."

"Liar," Cersei spat.

"We will hear the testimonies of the witnesses against you and then we shall hear from your witness," Tywin told his youngest son. "You may speak only with our leave."

The first witnesses called to present evidence were the two maester's who examined King Joffrey's body, Ballabar and Frenken. The former was portly and short with a shiny bald spot whilst Frenken was tall and thin with straggly grey hair pulled back into a plait. "We opened King Joffrey's body and found no blockage within the royal throat, my lords," Ballabar said after swearing to the High Septon to speak only the truth. "T'was poison that murdered our valiant king; a poison that would make it look like a simple choking."

"A most dastardly plot," Frenken added gravely.

They were followed by Grand Maester Pycelle who shuffled towards a chair and table that had been laid out for him, sitting down heavily. Since his imprisonment by Tyrion's order, Pycelle appeared frailer than ever; he'd taken to leaning heavily upon a twisted cane and visibly trembled. The table before the aged Grand Maester was filled with an array of bottles: some full, some empty and some only half-filled. Pycelle took the time to name each of the poisons that had been brought from his personal stores until Prince Oberyn cut him off impatiently, imploring the Grand Maester to make his point.

Pycelle looked indignant and Tywin may have spoken in his favour if he did not suspect the Grand Maester of sharing a secret with his wife that Tywin was not privy to.

"My point, my lords, is that these poisons were stolen from me by the Imp after he had me wrongly imprisoned," Pycelle accused. "They were found hidden in a chest in Lord Tyrion's solar but there is one poison missing: _the strangler_. This deadly poison has the same symptoms as a mere choking; the victim struggles to breathe, they turn purple and blood gushes from every orifice. It is my belief that this was the poison used to murder the most noble child the gods saw fit to place on this good earth."

Tyrion scoffed but fell silent once Tywin fixed him with a stern glare.

"Thank you, Grand Maester Pycelle," Tywin dismissed. Pycelle stood from his chair, took his cane and shuffled to the gallery once more. "We will hear next from members of the Kingsguard."

The chair and table was removed whilst the testifying members of the Kingsguard arranged themselves and it was apparent that Cersei had been methodical in choosing in which order the Kingsguard would present their evidence. Ser Balon Swann, good and valiant Balon Swann, began with a hesitant testimony where he described Tyrion striking the king shortly after the mob attacked them. This was proceeded by Ser Meryn Trant who augmented on Ser Balon's tale by telling the judges how Tyrion began kicking Joffrey and cursing him. The Kingsguard and the Kettleblack brothers all added to the story, elaborating on Tyrion frequently abusing King Joffrey and the boy-king's fear of what his uncle would do.

"He may have been king, my lords," Ser Osmund Kettleblack said, "but he was still only a boy of thirteen. King Joffrey was terrified of his uncle; he lived in constant fear. He said to me one day, 'Good Ser Osmund, you must protect me against my uncle for he means me harm. I fear he wishes to take the throne for himself.' Those words will haunt me until the end of my days. I had not been able to protect the good king but I can ensure that his murderer faces the justice that he deserves."

Ser Osmund retreated to the gallery and Tywin noticed the way he glanced at Cersei whilst passing, as though seeking approval. Tywin did not call for another witness; with the coronation of King Tommen preceding the testimonies of nine witnesses, the day was drawing into mid-afternoon.

"The court will adjourn until the bells toll in one hours time. Guards, escort the prisoner to the antechamber where he will wait."

The court moved as one mass, a rising tide that Tywin fought against once he'd descended from the throne. Catelyn had already left the gallery and was slipping out of a side door and he did not know whether she was purposefully avoiding him or not. Many people tried to engage him in conversation as he passed but Tywin growled out a few words of apology before continuing after his wife. Catelyn was already halfway down the blessedly empty corridor when Tywin stepped onto it.

"Catelyn."

She stilled and glanced over her shoulder. "Tywin," she replied wearily.

"Where were you this morning?" he asked, closing the distance between them. "You arrived with me at the throne room, disappeared and then returned halfway through the ceremony with Pycelle."

"I had a small matter to discuss with the Grand Maester," she said evasively.

They took slow, wandering steps down to the end of the corridor, stopping before a large arched window that overlooked the gardens and sea. It was a lazy kind of day, one that should have been enjoyed beneath the sun, not spent casting judgement over the murder of a king. A seat had been carved into the stone work beneath the window, made comfortable with stuffed cushions, but neither of them took it.

"Are you well?" Tywin prompted.

She turned to face him, pale and emotionless, lit from behind so that the sun played on the red in her hair. "I am with child."

Silence descended upon them. Tywin's face was dark and carved from stone. "You are positive?" he eventually asked.

She gave a small nod. "There have been two moon turns since I last bled. I recognise the symptoms: fatigue, nausea, tenderness," she listed. "Grand Maester Pycelle performed the examination this morning and confirmed my suspicions."

Tywin's face was immovable as he stretched out a hand and pressed it to her still-flat belly, a tender gesture that she had not expected from her lord husband. "You are carrying our child," he eventually murmured, in awe.

Tears had risen in Catelyn's eyes but she chose not to vocalise her conflicted thoughts. Instead, Catelyn rose onto her toes and pressed her lips against Tywin's in a long, soft kiss; into the kiss she poured all of her grief, her loss and sadness, her anger and bitterness and the tiny shred of joy that this child had brought.

"This child will want for nothing," Tywin promised as they parted, foreheads touching. He brought a finger up to stroke her cheek, catching the single tear that had rolled down her face. "He will be my heir and the future Lord of Casterly Rock."

Catelyn frowned. Ser Jaime had relinquished his claim on Casterly Rock by becoming a Knight of the Kingsguard but Tywin still had one more child capable of inheriting. "Tyrion…"

"Tyrion is currently on trial for murder," Tywin reminded her, "and even if he wasn't, I have made it clear that Tyrion will never inherit the Rock. I will not have him further besmirch the Lannister name by turning our ancestral seat into a brothel. No, this child that you carry will be my heir and legacy."

Catelyn chose not to remind her lord husband that the child could yet be a girl but a small part of her worried and wondered: how would Tywin react if she birthed a daughter as opposed to the son he so firmly anticipated?

"Come, my lady." He gestured to the window seat, urging her to sit down before dropping down beside her.

The sun was warm on their backs and this was where Ser Kevan later found them, heads inclined towards each other as they spoke in quiet tones and their hands somehow knotted together. They looked up at his brother's approach expectantly.

"The bells are about to toll," Ser Kevan said. "The trial is due to resume."

* * *

Catelyn thought Tyrion looked defiant as he was led back into the throne room for the second part of his trial. He took his place within the wooden dock once more and never lowered his gaze, instead fixing his mismatched eyes on various people until they uncomfortably ducked their heads. Tywin, Prince Oberyn and Mace Tyrell resumed their seats before the court followed suit.

The next witnesses were all guests at the wedding, all telling their own tale that painted Tyrion as the murderer. Some guests told of him arguing with the king, some of him disappearing beneath the table to retrieve the chalice, whilst others spoke of him filling the chalice and acting as cupbearer to King Joffrey. Josmyn Peckledon, Old Estermont, Morros and Jothos Slynt and Galyeon of Cuy all testified that Tyrion poured the remainder of wine from the chalice to the floor whilst the king died and Catelyn recalled seeing the same thing.

Glancing around the throne room, she could see that the courtiers were looking increasingly mutinous and doubted that any of them thought Tyrion to be innocent. On the dais, Mace Tyrell was turning red from the neck up — it was well known that the Tyrell's were angrily demanding justice, claiming that their 'poor Margaery' could have been another victim as she had also been drinking from the chalice. Tywin's gaze was dark but Catelyn thought she saw a hint of satisfaction on his face and it turned her stomach; she did not want to think of her husband finding pleasure in seeing his son's undoing. Prince Oberyn was the only judge who was hard to read; he listened and he watched, his brows knitted together, and occasionally he made comments. At times, such as when Pycelle had been listing his potions, the Dornish prince looked bored but there was something quick and calculating in his viper's eyes.

Cersei was called as the next witness. The dowager queen still wore black, mourning her eldest son. Her pale face was filled with such sadness and Catelyn knew that she would inspire sympathy in many.

"I knew my brother hated Joffrey," Cersei began. "He was jealous because Joff was tall and handsome, gallant and noble. Joff was loved by the masses whereas they despise Tyrion: 'twisted little demon monkey', they call him." The room was silent as everyone hung onto the Queen Regent's words. "Whilst acting as Hand of the King, we had a simple disagreement as all siblings do but he was needlessly angry and cruel. He said, 'The day will come when you think you are happy and safe and the joy will turn to ashes in your mouth…'" Tears spilled down Cersei's cheeks but she ignored them. "I did not know that the day would be my eldest boy's wedding."

"Thank you, your Grace," Mace Tyrell said soothingly. "That was most brave of you to share."

The dowager Queen retreated and Tywin called for the next witness. "Lady Catelyn of House Lannister."

Catelyn gathered her courage before standing, crossing the gallery and descending to the floor beneath the dais. Many of Cersei's witnesses, Catelyn assumed, had been bought, bribed or bullied into their testimonies so Catelyn did not know why the Queen Regent had requested that she give evidence. Tywin had been less that useful, refusing to tell her where his questioning would lead.

At the High Septon's prompt, Catelyn swore to speak honestly before she gazed up at her lord husband patiently.

"My lady, your daughter is married to the accused," Tywin said.

"That is correct," she answered.

"Has Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa consummated their marriage?" Tywin asked.

Catelyn's eyes narrowed. "Not to my knowledge."

"Would you say, in your opinion, that that is a regular occurrence in a marriage where both husband and wife are of a reasonable age for consummation?"

She hesitated before remembering her vow of honesty. "No, it is not a regular occurrence. Lord Tyrion said he would wait until she was ready and would not force her."

"A truly noble concept for one such as Lord Tyrion," Mace Tyrell needed haughtily, "owing to his reputation."

Catelyn ignored the Lord of High Garden, fixing her gaze solely on her lord husband. Tywin was looking at her calculatingly. "Following the demise of your three sons, who now holds the strongest claim to Winterfell?"

Catelyn hesitated again before saying, hollowly, "Sansa."

"Sansa," Tywin repeated. "Sansa would be a strong bargaining tool, would you not agree? An enemy of the crown could potentially use her to build alliances with the North, particularly if she were still a maiden capable of marrying again."

"I—"

"Do you agree?" Tywin pressed firmly.

Catelyn sighed. "Yes, I agree."

"This is not the first time that Tyrion has been arrested; is it, Lady Catelyn?" Green eyes flecked with gold sparked challengingly.

Catelyn grit her teeth. "No." Tywin said nothing, waiting for her to elaborate which she did, slowly, "I arrested Lord Tyrion on the King's Road and took him to the Vale where he was tried for his crimes. My son, Brandon Stark of Winterfell, was injured after… falling from a window and a catspaw was sent to cut his throat whilst he lay abed, unconscious. The plot was foiled and I was led to believe, by someone I once trusted, that the dagger used by the catspaw was owned by Lord Tyrion, therefore implicating him in the assassination attempt. Lord Tyrion demanded a trial by combat and the gods judged him as innocent."

"The gods judged him or the gods granted Ser Bronn of the Blackwater with more strength than his opponent?" Tywin asked rhetorically. _Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?_ she thought wonderingly. "That will be all, Lady Catelyn, thank you."

His dismissal of her was much politer than when dealing with other witnesses.

"One more question, my lady," Prince Oberyn requested, stilling her. The Dornish prince inclined his head towards Tyrion. "Do you think he is guilty?"

Catelyn glanced at Tyrion who awaited her answer with keen interest before returning her gaze to Prince Oberyn in a wide arc, her eyes briefly locking with her husband's. There was a warning in that green gaze.

"No. As someone who once wrongly accused Tyrion of a crime he did not commit, I do not think him guilty of this crime either."

She returned to the gallery, feeling many eyes fixed upon her as murmurings rose throughout the Great Hall. She could almost feel Tywin's sense of betrayal and Tyrion's gratification draping over her as a cloak.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** In the season of giving, I thought I would gift you all with an early update. I am hoping that you enjoy this chapter and that it has just a bit of everything to keep you hooked: sex, intrigue, betrayal, etc. To those of you celebrating Christmas: Merry Christmas! Enjoy this update from me to you. And to those of you that do not celebrate Christmas, I hope you have a wonderful rest of the week.

A great big thank you to my lovely, _lovely_ reviewers and a huge welcome to those of you that are favouriting/following.

* * *

 **The Lady and the Lion Fair**

 **Chapter Twelve**

The first fingers of dawn were creeping into the bedchamber when Catelyn awoke. She lay in Tywin's arms, her back flush against his front, and could almost hear the troubled thoughts that kept him awake. His hand rested on her belly, thumb idly stroking through the material of her sleep shift to where their unborn babe lay. She stretched, curling her toes and arching her back before settling into his embrace once more.

"I did not mean to frighten you last night." It was the closest that she would get to an apology.

"I know," she replied, voice gravelly with sleep. Tywin would not apologise for his temper but nor would she apologise for her honesty.

 _The door to the solar crashed open with a tremendous bang, slamming against the wall. Catelyn would have been startled if she had not been expecting it; Val, however, was not so lucky. The aged handmaiden upset the pan that she had just swept the hearth into, spreading soot across the floor. Tywin was outlined in the doorway to the Hand's apartments, looking thunderous. He had adjourned Tyrion's trial until the morrow following her testimony and, as lords and ladies alike converged on him, she had swiftly retreated to their apartments. Catelyn had not expected to hide from her husband for long but neither had she wanted this conversation to be in the presence of an eagerly listening audience._

 _"Leave us," Tywin snapped at Val. The handmaiden rose to her feet, streaks of soot now running along her mottled brown skirt, before hurrying towards the door. She cast a quick, furtive look at Catelyn before slipping out and Tywin flung the door shut behind her. He rounded on his wife, eyes hard and dark as flint, and for the first time Catelyn was truly afraid of him. "What did you think you were playing at?" he demanded._

 _"Prince Oberyn asked me a question and I answered honestly," she said, attempting reason._

 _"You may have compromised the trial," he accused._

 _"I may have given Tyrion a fair chance," Catelyn argued._

 _Tywin crossed the solar and gripped each of her upper arms tightly. "I will not have my wife make me look a fool."_

 _"Then you should not act foolishly," she snapped, her own anger flaring._

 _For a moment, she thought that Tywin may strike her. Instead, he spoke through tightly gritted teeth, "You do not seem to comprehend what it is that Tyrion has done."_

 _"And what, pray tell, has he exactly done?"_

 _"HE MURDERED HIS MOTHER!" Tywin thundered. A pregnant pause followed his admission and Catelyn's mouth fell open in shock, the anger melting away. Tywin seemed at a loss before finally composing himself. "King," he amended quietly. "He murdered the king."_

 _Catelyn did not know how to respond. Instead, she said softly, "You're hurting me."_

 _Tywin's fingers slowly unclenched from around her forearms and he backed away before turning, marching towards the door for a hasty retreat._

 _She took one step towards him but faltered, "Tywin…"_

 _He hesitated, one hand already on the doorknob to pull it open. Tywin inclined his head over his shoulder but his eyes were downcast, refusing to look at her. "You will_ never _publicly humiliate me again."_

 _The warning was cold and irrevocable and it cut straight through her._

When he had finally returned at night, she had lain in the dark and pretended to sleep, feeling craven but unable to face her husband either. Now, she rested a hand atop his on her belly and when his stroking movement did not cease Catelyn grew emboldened.

"Allow Tyrion to take the black."

Finally, Tywin's hand stilled, tense against her. She heard and felt him sigh, the warm puff of breath close to her ear. "Tyrion cannot win this trial," she continued, truthfully. "Do you truly wish him to be executed?"

"He cannot win because he cannot prove his innocence," Tywin told her. "I told you once before that Tyrion had the means, the motive and the opportunity."

A shudder crawled up Catelyn's spine with realisation. "You honestly think Tyrion did it."

Tywin did not answer and a strange emotion stabbed through her: _pity_. She was thankful that she faced away from him so he did not see the emotion play across her face. Tywin resumed stroking her belly soothingly and it would have been ever so easy to slip back into sleep, lulled by his gentle caress. "Then offer him mercy," Catelyn pressed insistently. "Let Tyrion confess to his crimes and send him to the Wall."

Tywin scoffed, "I highly doubt Tyrion would agree to a lifetime of celibacy whilst defending the realm from grumpkins and snarks."

"He will if it would keep his head attached to his shoulders," she said shrewdly.

His second lack of response caused Catelyn to shift, turning her body so that she lay facing her lord husband. They were so close that she could feel his warm breath on her face each time he exhaled. Tywin did not look as self-assured as usual: a frown was etched between his brows, his mouth downturned and his eyes troubled. Catelyn reached up a hand to cup his cheek, his whiskers coarse against her scarred hand.

"You would have me bend to Tyrion's will?" he accused.

"No. I would have you bend to mine."

Catelyn caught Tywin's lips in a sultry kiss, pressing her body more firmly against his and her hand on his cheek holding him in place. Her breasts pushed against his chest, the nipples puckering with arousal through the material of her shift. A languid passion built between them as their tongues duelled lazily. Tywin wore nothing and she could feel his cock stiffening against her, making her body thrum with anticipation. He rolled Catelyn beneath him and took each of her hands in his, lacing their fingers together and raising them above her head as his mouth thoroughly devoured hers.

Catelyn wrapped her legs around Tywin's waist, allowing the shift to fall away and gather at her hips. The head of his cock brushed against her womanhood and they each moaned at the contact. She dug her heels into Tywin's backside, a wordless demand, and he thrust forward, burying himself in her tight sleeve of heat. His mouth swallowed her cry. Catelyn squeezed her thighs tighter around his hips and they rocked together, already building a steady pace.

Tywin's mouth slanted over hers hungrily as he pressed their clasped hands further into the mattress, turning his knuckles white. His wife lay cocooned within their arms, her eyes bright with desire in the early morning gloom, lips swollen from his kisses and tendrils of hair curling against her sweat dampened forehead. Desire had not been something that he had expected from Catelyn; aside from the more obvious difficulties in their marriage, he was also of an age with her father and had therefore assumed that attraction would not come easily but she was looking upon him now as if that was not the case. His ego stroked and soothed, Tywin moved with fluid assuredness.

With a slight angle of her hips, Catelyn could ensure that Tywin's body brushed against the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her womanhood with each thrust. She was already so achingly close. "Tywin," she gasped and it was a plea, a prayer and a promise all rolled into one.

She cradled Tywin between her thighs as he pinned her body to the mattress, driving into her. Catelyn's gasps lengthened into needy cries of pleasure as she unravelled. Her convulsions milked Tywin's cock and he thrust deeply once, twice, three times before spilling hotly inside her.

They lay conjoined, gasping for breath. Tywin brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the knuckles before releasing his grip. Catelyn stretched her stiff fingers; since the assassination attempt had left her hands marred, she had lost dexterity in some of the fingers and found that they seized if clenched for long periods of time. Tywin pulled himself out of her and rolled off until he sat on the edge of the bed. He pressed his hands into the mattress on either side of him, head bowed, and she could see that the muscles in his back were taut. Catelyn readjusted her sleep shift and disentangled her legs from the furs before crawling to the edge of the bed and kneeling behind her husband. She pressed the palms of her hands into his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles.

Tywin groaned in appreciation, mumbled incoherently and relaxed beneath her ministrations. At length, he finally spoke, "I will allow Tyrion to join the Night's Watch."

Catelyn felt the corner of her mouth curl upwards in the ghost of a smile. "Thank you," she whispered and kissed his whiskered cheek.

* * *

Tyrion had barely slept but lay awake on his cot, staring up at the ceiling. He did not know how long this trial would last but hoped it continued for a while — he was rather fond of his head being attached to the rest of his body. Keys jangled in the door a moment before it was swung open and his uncle stepped inside. Ser Kevan looked upon him coldly and Tyrion realised that here stood another person convinced of his guilt.

The dwarf pulled himself up to sitting, his little legs hanging off the edge of the cot. "Have you come to tell me that all is forgiven and I am free to go?"

Ser Kevan ignored him. "You are losing this trial. Cersei wants your head and at least one of the judges is inclined to agree with her. I have a message from your father: confess to your crimes, plead for mercy and he will allow you to join the Night's Watch."

Tyrion gave a short bark of laughter. "A very fine jest, uncle, except I believe I have heard this one before and the punchline ends like this: be promised mercy, confess on Baelor's steps and then have your head cut off regardless." The laughter died and Tyrion fixed his uncle with a hard stare. "Do not think me a fool like Ned Stark. I am wiser, savvier and handsomer than he."

"Tywin did not order Eddard's execution, nor would he order yours once mercy has been granted," Ser Kevan countered.

"Lord Tywin the Merciful," Tyrion proclaimed regally. "Yes, that does sound correct, does it not? It was mercy that tore down Castamere and slaughtered every man, woman and child; mercy that arranged the murder of an opponent at a wedding; mercy that gave a grieving mother the choice between a marriage bed or the executioner's block."

"You will not walk away from this Tyrion," Ser Kevan warned him. "If you somehow win this trial then the mob will tear you apart the moment you step out of the Red Keep. If you stay then Cersei will have you murdered in your sleep."

"Such bleak prospects for the innocent. Why should I trust my father's word?"

"It was not your father who suggested the Night's Watch as an adequate punishment. He was persuaded by another."

 _Jaime_ , Tyrion thought but another name passed his lips, "Lady Stark."

Ser Kevan inclined his head in affirmation. "Lady _Lannister_ ," he stressed, "has appealed to her lord husband on your behalf."

Tyrion eyed him suspiciously. "Why would Father agree to anything that she asked of him?" Their marriage was one of political strategy, not love. Yet Tyrion recalled how his father had looked upon Lady Catelyn during Joffrey and Margaery's wedding feast, a softness to his expression as the singer crooned about red maidens. Realisation hit Tyrion and he gasped, "By the gods, do not tell me Father loves her!"

"Love may be a strong word but Tywin has certainly grown to care for Lady Catelyn," Ser Kevan agreed. "I have only ever known your father to be swayed by one other person: your lady mother. As Hand to the Mad King, it was widely known that Tywin truly ruled the Seven Kingdoms but it was lesser known that he was ruled at home by Joanna."

Tyrion frowned, he could not imagine his father being ruled by anyone; not Kings, not Gods and certainly not by a woman. Tyrion spoke more to himself, musing, "Uncle Gerion once told me that the best part of my father died with mother."

Kevan nodded solemnly. "I would agree," he said before adding, "but recently I have seen glimpses of the man he once was. Tywin may seem hard to you, Tyrion, but he is only as hard as he has had to be. Our own father was weak. He was openly mocked by his bannermen; 'The Toothless Lion', they called him. He sullied the Lannister name with his softness, his weakness in stamping out defiance and by allowing his mistresses to openly steal from him. Tywin restored House Lannister until it became a name to fear once more. You know yourself that _The Rains of Castamere_ is more than just a song. Tywin has done more for this family than any other; he has done more for the Seven Kingdoms than any other. He ruled for twenty peaceful and plentiful years and received no recognition, honour or even gratitude for it." Ser Kevan fixed Tyrion with a hard stare. "Now you have a decision to make. Do you think Tywin would have been so easily swayed if you were not his and Joanna's child? The Wall will offer you opportunities, more so than if you remain here. It appears you have four choices: the block, the mob, Cersei or the Wall. Choose wisely, Tyrion, for only one ends with life."

Ser Kevan marched from the cell and Tyrion was alone once more until Podrick would arrive to dress him for the day. He did not know what was more confusing: Lady Catelyn's determination to spare his life; his father actually listening to her plea; or his uncle's display of warm, brotherly love.

* * *

The Great Hall was a bustle of activity when Catelyn entered on Tywin's arm. Many people eyed them with raised eyebrows, whispered into their neighbour's ear and then swiftly looked away when Tywin fixed them with his ruthless glare. Catelyn bit the inside of her cheek to suppress her amusement, instead focusing on looking contrite and thoroughly-scolded.

They walked the length of the hall, head's held high amidst the whispering. At the base of the dais they parted, Tywin trailing his hand down to her fingers, squeezing briefly, and then releasing her. He ascended the steps and she walked towards the gallery where the other witnesses were already converging, having been told that they would spend the entirety of the trial together. A second arm, more slender and lithe than Tywin's, slipped through the crook of Catelyn's elbow. She prepared a warm smile for Sansa however it faltered upon finding the Queen Regent.

Cersei leaned in close, her tone conspiratorial, her smile sweet but her eyes flashing dangerously. "I hear that congratulations are in order." Catelyn felt as though someone had replaced the blood in her veins with ice. Cersei gave a chuckle and continued, "Oh there is no need to look quite so shocked; did you truly think Pycelle would keep your little secret to himself? I admit that I am rather impressed: you are certainly carrying out your duty as my father's little wife very well but do not think for one moment that my father feels anything for you," she said coldly. "Tywin Lannister is not capable of love. An heir is what my father needs and when you are no longer useful, you will be replaceable."

"Thank you for the advice, your Grace," Catelyn said sweetly, "I am sure that your marriage to Robert Baratheon made you very knowledgable of a wife's limited usefulness."

Cersei's lips pinched together. "Be sure to take care of yourself Lady Catelyn, that is my future brother or sister that you carry and we all know how precious family can be."

The two women parted, Cersei to sit amongst the Kingsguard and Catelyn beside Sansa. Her eldest daughter was frowning at her but Catelyn gave her a fixed, bright smile. Thankfully, the trial started before Sansa could question her mother on the conversation with the dowager Queen.

The second day of the trial began much the same as the first with Tywin, Prince Oberyn and Mace Tyrell taking their respective seats, Tyrion being brought in before the three judges and the High Septon praying for justice.

 _Justice_ , Catelyn thought, _such a strange ideal in King's Landing._

The first witness of the day was Lord Varys, perfumed and powdered, who rubbed his hands over each other whilst he spoke, telling the court of his 'little birds' overhearing a private conversation between Tyrion and his sellsword, Bronn, about Tommen being a better suited King than his elder brother. Catelyn glanced at Tyrion and saw the look of deep betrayal cast across his face before he carefully schooled his features into an unreadable mask.

The Spider continued to further damn Tyrion by producing documents that had been diligently filled in with notes, dates and details of conversations that had occurred. He confirmed all of the witness accounts that had happened thus far, except for those from the day of the wedding itself.

Varys gave an infuriating little giggle. "In truth, my lords, I do not know whether Lord Tyrion murdered his nephew or not," he said and there was a murmur at these words; the court had become accustomed to Lord Varys knowing things that no other person could possibly be privy to. "But," he continued calmly, "it was widely known that Tyrion despised King Joffrey and a quick poisoning is much more practical than a widespread rebellion led by a dwarf."

Varys left and Tywin called for the next witness. A side door opened and the herald announced, "Ser Dontos of House Hollard."

A man was brought in wearing a filthy undershirt and breeches, a goldcloak on either side of him and his hands bound in fetters. His grey hair was tangled and thick with grease. He squinted in the light and his face was a sickly, grey pallor as though he had not been in the sun for a long time. Ser Dontos was also taller and thinner than he had been at Joffrey's wedding. Sansa gave a quick start but Catelyn held onto her wrist and stilled her daughter's quick tongue from saying something incriminating.

Hunched and shuffling, the imposter was led to the base of the dais. He began in a rasping voice, "My name is Ser Dontos of House Hollard. I was a knight but shamed myself on King Joffrey's nameday. The good Lady Sansa, who was betrothed to King Joffrey at the time, begged the king to spare my life so he made me his personal fool, often asking me to provide entertainment in his private chambers."

"What kind of entertainment?" Prince Oberyn asked, his snake's eyes glittering with amusement.

"Juggling, jokes, sleight out of hand tricks..."

"Oh, the boring kind," Prince Oberyn said, lounging back in his chair, disinterested. A few of the sillier women in court tittered, eyeing the Prince of Dorne coyly.

"Lord Tyrion arrived in King's Landing to act as Hand of the King the same day as King Joffrey's nameday and shortly afterwards, he approached me and asked me to spy on the king. He wanted to know what his plans were, his habits, who he spoke to, who he trusted... I spied on the king, told Tyrion what he wanted to know and was paid well for it."

"You do not look as though you were paid well," Prince Oberyn commented, eyeing his filthy shift.

"I spent my money in the taverns," Ser Dontos said and there was much nodding in court. "Lord Tyrion then tasked me with befriending Sansa Stark and gaining her trust. I left a note for her, telling her to come to the Godswood and once there I promised to take her home."

Sansa turned very pale and gave a small moan, heard only by Catelyn, "How does he know?"

"I do not know," Catelyn muttered but she fixed Tywin with a blazing glare. Tywin was the only other person who knew of what had transpired between Sansa and the real Ser Dontos; she suspected that following the discovery of Ser Dontos' body he had seized the opportunity of finding a replacement and using him to further implicate his son.

"Lord Tyrion gave a silver hairnet to me and told me to give it to Lady Sansa, telling her that it was magical and could take her home. In truth, the stones in the hairnet contained poison and whilst pulling silver stags from behind the ears of the wedding guests, I slipped one of the stones out from her hairnet. During the feast, King Joffrey was sparring with his uncle about fighting the dwarves, I lifted Lord Tyrion's hand above his head and declared him the King's Champion: this was when I transferred the poison to Lord Tyrion who then put it in the king's chalice."

A buzz of noise filled the hall as many people remembered Tyrion's hand being lifted by Ser Dontos and Tyrion's guilt was therefore further proved. Tyrion had stood up in the dock, but the effect was very limited as he looked no taller, and was shouting to be heard over the noise.

"That's a lie!" Tyrion continued to shout as the rest of the throne room fell silent, the court listening raptly and with sickening excitement.

"Tyrion," Tywin warned, "if you speak without leave again you will be gagged." Tyrion gnashed his teeth together, glaring up at his father but said no more. Tywin seemed to think for a moment, his face troubled before finally saying in a tired voice, "Very well, Ser Dontos. You will be charged for the role you played in the king's murder and may the gods spare your soul." Ser Dontos was led from the throne room and Tywin finally looked at Catelyn. She eyed him beseechingly but his green eyes flicked away without revealing his thoughts. "Bring forth the next witness."

The doors to the throne room opened and a lithe woman with liquid eyes and ebony hair walked down the centre aisle. Catelyn vaguely recognised the woman despite the fact she was not a woman at court. The woman did not look at Tyrion but Catelyn saw the way her goodson's eyes followed her, heartbreak written so clearly across his face.

This time, the herald did not call the name of the witness and silence followed her to the dais.

"My name is Shae," the young woman announced, "I was first the maid to Lollys Stokeworth and then to Lady Sansa when she married the Imp. I was also the Imp's whore." A muttering broke through the court but Shae continued, "I did not want to be, m'lords, but the Imp made me. I was to wed a squire but at the Green Fork the Imp arranged it for my betrothed to fight in the van and then took me for himself. He brought me to King's Landing where he first locked me in a house, visiting and taking me whenever he wished, before finally making me work in the castle — he said the thought of us being caught by his sister, the Queen, or by his father excited him.

'Lord Tyrion wanted the throne for himself. After fucking me, he would talk about how he planned to kill the entire royal family — starting with King Joffrey — until he could seize control. I was so scared. His first move was to approach Lady Sansa through Ser Dontos; he hoped that if Ser Dontos could get Lady Sansa out of King's Landing whilst he poisoned the king then her brother, Robb Stark, might bend the knee to him and name the Imp as the leader of the Northern army in gratitude. Lord Tywin then ordered that his son marry Lady Sansa but the Imp refused to lay with her, knowing that her brother would want her unspoiled. When Robb Stark was slain, Lord Tyrion formed a new plan: he would still murder King Joffrey and spirit Lady Sansa away but then marry her to another lord who could help him to overthrow the royal family.

'Lady Sansa did not know that she was being used and, when Ser Dontos tried to convince her to leave during the wedding, she refused and stayed with her lady mother. By then it was too late for the Imp who had already poisoned the king, as he had said he would that morning whilst he fucked me. Often, he would tell me to call him King Tyrion but sometimes it would be _my giant, my giant of Lannister_."

The Kettleblack brothers were the first to start laughing, clutching their sides as they guffawed. Others soon joined in until the room was a single gale of laughter but Catelyn did not find it funny, nor did Sansa who's eyes had filled with angry tears of indignation. Tyrion was stood and shouting again, his voice rising above the swell of laughter.

"MY LORDS!" he bellowed until the court settled down, his face red with mingled embarrassment and fury. Tywin's hand rose and the hall fell deathly silent once more. "I wish to confess," Tyrion said in a hoarse voice. Catelyn felt the relief spread through her, silently urging him to confess and plead for mercy. "I am guilty. So very guilty but not of the crime that you think I committed. I am guilty of being a dwarf, of besmirching my family's good standing and that is something that I can never be forgiven for, is it not, Father?"

"You are not on trial for being a dwarf," Tywin's tone was flat.

"Am I not?" Tyrion asked incredulously. "I have been on trial for being a dwarf every day of my life. Not only am I a dwarf, but I am the dwarf son of _Tywin Lannister_. Hear me now: _I did not kill Joffrey_ … but I wish that I had." He glared at Cersei, looking as monstrous as many people claimed him to be. "I wish that it had been my hand that slew your vicious brat and furthermore," he turned to address the rest of the court, his tone ringing, "I wish I had enough to poison to kill all of you. Every smirking man, every simpering woman and every single lying whore! I should have let Stannis Baratheon kill your men and rape your women. I am innocent but I will find no justice here: I demand a trial by combat."

Catelyn closed her eyes in earnest as his words rippled across the hall.

"You have that right," Cersei spoke up, her green lioness eyes glittering and the first smile since Joffrey's murder passing her lips. "The crown names Ser Gregor Clegane as its champion."

Tywin looked furiously upon his youngest son. "Do you have a champion?"

"Not as of yet," Tyrion answered, "but I am sure that I can find one."

"I would not be so sure of that," Cersei answered sweetly. "The Mountain and the Dwarf; the minstrels will enjoy themselves immensely singing about how this one ends."

* * *

Catelyn sat at her dresser, unwinding the braids that her hair had been plaited into. Once her hair hung loose, she picked up the dragonbone comb and dragged it through the locks until it shone like spun copper. A lone candle cast a halo of light around her whilst long shadows inched across the walls.

She and Tywin had spent a strained supper together. His brow had been dark and furrowed as he sat brooding and Catelyn had not known what to say to ease the tension. Finally, Tywin had spoken, "Sansa's maid or Tyrion's whore or whoever she is must have been listening to my conversation with your daughter the night of Joffrey's wedding, to know about Ser Dontos and the poison. Undoubtedly this was Cersei's grand finale." Catelyn could not prevent the surprise from showing on her face and Tywin caught it. "Do you truly think I would have set my son up so splendidly after offering mercy?"

"I did not know," Catelyn had admitted quietly. "Why did Cersei not attempt to implicate Sansa, or even myself? It is no secret that she bares us ill-will."

"I believe that in this instance, Cersei thought pinning the entirety of the blame on Tyrion would be more valuable than attempting to spread the blame," he had explained. After pushing his food around the plate for a few moments he had abruptly stood up. "I must call a meeting with the Small Council. We will need to discuss the trial's outcome and arrange the trial by combat. I do not know when I will return." He'd gestured to the food on the table. "Ensure that you eat something."

He had then left, briefly acknowledging Brienne who was guarding their apartments, and Catelyn had truly attempted to eat a full meal but her appetite was as non-existent now as it had been before she fell pregnant. Her night had been spent being bathed by Val, who had taken one look at the bruises that marred her upper arms, tsked and then scrubbed her clean with more gentleness than usual. Catelyn had dismissed the handmaiden some time ago and settled at her dressing table to work on the tangles in her hair.

Catelyn sighed, returning to the present. It was getting late and exhaustion was creeping over her again; rising early, carrying the babe and the excitement of Tyrion's trial was taking its hard toll. She hummed tunelessly as she gathered her hair in one hand and brushed through the ends. The candle flickered and she eyed it wearily, noting no breeze within the room.

The back of Catelyn's neck began to prickle and she set the comb down slowly, noting the tremble of her fingers. In the looking glass she could see nothing behind her but the shadows in the corners of the room left her feeling eerie. She was going to turn around when a large, black ball of fur leapt up onto the dresser and startled her.

"By the gods!" Catelyn exclaimed, clutching at her chest as the black cat with one tattered ear hissed at her and then dropped out of sight, slinking from the room. Catelyn laughed at herself but the laugh caught in her throat when she saw a flash of steel mirrored in the looking glass, held by a figure stood half in shadow. Cold fear gripped her as the figure spoke in a calm, familiar voice.

"Please, my lady, it would not bode well for you to scream."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** I know how that cliffhangers can be kick you in the crotch, spit on your neck, fantastic! (10 points to whoever picked up that reference) so thank you all for refraining from calling for my head on a spike. I should probably pre-warn you all that cliffhangers will crop up every now and again because they're just so much fun to work with. I hope you enjoy this next chapter

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

A headache was forming in Tywin's temples. The day had been long and arduous and it did not look as though it would end anytime soon. He had called a meeting with the Small Council to discuss the outcome of Tyrion's trial in addition to arranging his son's trial by combat. As far as Tywin was aware, no one had yet stepped forward as Tyrion's champion whereas Cersei had already appeared briefly in the private audience chamber to gleefully announce that Ser Gregor Clegane had arrived at the Red Keep.

Tywin's daughter had sent riders to summon The Mountain that Rides as soon as she had arrested her brother, already hoping that Tyrion would foolishly demand a trial by combat. The Mountain's thirst for bloodshed and unwavering loyalty to House Lannister had brought him swiftly to King's Landing however Tywin did not expect Ser Gregor to be pleased with his summons as Tywin had promised to keep him away from Prince Oberyn during the Dornishman's stay in the capital. Tywin merely hoped that neither Ser Gregor nor Prince Oberyn did anything brash or else there would be another brawl in the city streets that would make Eddard Stark and Jaime's fight look like child's play.

 _Speaking of Jaime…_ Tywin had hoped that his eldest son and a few other member's of the Small Council, exempting their Master of Coin who currently resided in the black cells, would have arrived for the meeting by now. He particularly hoped that they would arrive before Mace Tyrell puffed up self-importantly once more and declared for the umpteenth time that he was confident the gods would be just in delivering their judgement.

His brother caught Tywin's troubled gaze from across the room, raising one eyebrow and Tywin wondered whether Kevan was also beginning to seriously doubt Tyrion's guilt. Damning and foolish as Tyrion's speech had been at the end of his trial, it had also been too passionate and honest to be false. _"Hear me now:_ I did not kill Joffrey… _but I wish I had. I wish it had been my hand that slew your vicious brat…"_ A small seed of doubt at Tyrion's guilt had been planted and it was slowly beginning to grow but Tywin feared it was too late.

"A cowardly trick, poisoning a man at his own wedding, but rest assured that justice will be dealt swiftly by the gods," Mace Tyrell stated — _again_. "After all, what are the Seven if not just?"

Tywin rubbed at his temples. His mind wandered to the tower above, to the apartments he shared with his wife; thoughts of finally sinking into the feather bed and wrapping his weary body around Catelyn's warmth gave him the strength to continue. He longed for a dreamless, uninterrupted night's rest but knew that that would not be the case; sometime in the night, quiet moans and words not meant for his ears would wake him.

" _Robb! Robb,_ please!"

It was not always Robb that his wife called for; sometimes it would be another of her children and sometimes it would be Ned. Those were the worst of all.

Tywin forcibly urged those thoughts aside, instead steepling his fingers together and calling for silence within the audience chamber. "My lords, it is growing late and we have much to get through; I am certain that those missing will not begrudge us from beginning the discussions. First, the trial…"

* * *

The black cells were aptly named. Tyrion could not see past his own ruined nose and all light from the outside world had disappeared with the closing of the heavy wooden door. He had lost all sense of time for the minutes bled into each other, it may have been hours or days since his ill-fated outburst during the trial — ill-fated but no less gratifying. He had been thrown in the black cells for declaring his joy in watching his nephew suffer but it had been worth it; the image of Cersei's face frozen in shock and fury during his admittance kept Tyrion sane, even as hysteria threatened to overwhelm him.

On the bright side, the black cells were pleasanter than the sky cells in the Eyrie: three stone walls and one open wall, a six hundred foot drop, a sloping floor and only the howling wind for company. Despite the rats that squeaked in the darkness, Tyrion found the black cells to be relatively comfortable in comparison.

It was almost dully unsurprising that his thoughts turned to Tysha, as they often seemed to when at his lowest. He and Tysha lay in their little cottage, a tangle of limbs, listening to the Sunset Sea waves crash upon the shore whilst she curled into him, sleepy and beautiful. Her red - no, _black_ \- hair splayed across his chest. Tyrion stroked one bare shoulder with his thumb, raising gooseflesh. He looked into her face but it forever shifted; Tysha shuddered with pleasure at his touch, Sansa shuddered with disgust, and Shae shuddered because she knew it would stroke his ego. The faces continued to flicker until he felt fit to weep.

Heavy footsteps sounded outside his door and keys jangled noisily in the lock. _It appears Cersei will not wait for The Mountain to destroy me._ Tyrion stumbled to his feet, using the wall to keep him standing as the heavy door was pulled open and torchlight flooded the cell. He raised one hand to his eyes, shielding them against the sudden intrusion. Someone stood in the doorway of his cell but he could not make out who it was, only suspect that it was a hired mercenary sent so lovingly by his sister.

"Kill me and be done with it," he requested hoarsely, putting as much venom and spite into his tone.

"I am sure that would please Cersei greatly." Tyrion gave a gasp as his eyes adjusted and he looked upon his golden-haired, golden-handed brother. Jaime was giving him a crooked smile.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asked.

"Saving your arse. Come," Jaime said, gesturing for his brother to follow. They hurried out of the black cell and along the corridor, Jaime holding a torch aloft whilst Tyrion scouted for guards. Soon, he realised why they had not been caught: all of the guards were slumped in the corridors, snoring deeply. Jaime caught Tyrion's look of surprise. "You may thank Varys for that: the eunuch dosed their wine with sweetsleep."

"Varys?" he asked in surprise, thinking of how the Spider had betrayed him with his testimony.

"It appears you have more friends than you realise," Jaime said. "Varys has arranged for a galley to be waiting for you in the bay, it will take you to the Free Cities. He has also contacted some agents who will look after you once you arrive. I would tell you to blend in and not draw attention to yourself but I think we both know that is unlikely."

Tyrion chuckled. "If asked I will tell them that I am certainly not Tyrion Lannister; I am merely a different dwarf with half a nose and a hideous facial scar."

"I think it may work," Jaime deadpanned.

Tyrion sighed, suddenly serious. "Exile," he said softly. "I did not think it would come to this. I may yet win the trial by combat, you know."

Jaime stopped walking and turned to face his younger brother. "No one will come forward as your champion, Tyrion."

"Bronn—"

"—is now 'Ser Bronn of the Blackwater'," Jaime interrupted. "Betrothed to Lollys Stokeworth and promised Castle Stokeworth should, and when (I might add), something befall her mother and sister, Lady Falyse. Cersei has already checked your move, Brother."

" _You_ could be my champion," Tyrion pointed out.

Jaime spoke softly, "You know I cannot."

"Always the golden boy," Tyrion jested half-heartedly. "Tell me, is Cersei's cunt truly worth it?"

"It was once…" Jaime said and trailed off, a faraway look in his eye before visibly shaking himself. "Come, we mustn't waste any time."

They pressed on once more, Tyrion jogging to keep up with Jaime's long strides and he was soon panting with exertion as their path declined steeply. They passed through doors, Jaime using the gaoler's keys to gain entry and then locking the doors behind them, and continued deeper into the Red Keep.

"Should we not be moving towards the surface?" Tyrion finally asked.

"It will not take long for one of those guards to wake up or someone else to stumble upon your empty cell," Jaime explained. "As soon as they do, they will alert the whole castle to your escape and be looking overground for you. Instead, I am leading you to Varys who will guide you the rest of the way through the sewers."

"Like a rat," Tyrion mused disdainfully. He sighed and warned, "Father will know that it is you who helped me; he will not thank you for this and nor will Cersei."

"Allow me to deal with Father and Cersei. This is the repaying of a debt long overdue," Jaime said stiffly.

Tyrion frowned at his older brother. "How do you mean?"

Jaime stopped again and turned to face Tyrion, grief etched upon his face. "I have wronged you, Brother. For many years I have wronged you. That girl… the crofter's daughter that you married… she was no whore. Father said that she only wed you for your gold and that you deserved a stern lesson so he had me lie to you; I told you that stumbling across her in the woods had been pre-planned when in truth, it was nothing of the sort. That girl—"

"Tysha," Tyrion cut over him harshly. "Her name was Tysha. And she was not 'that girl', she was my _wife_."

"Forgive me, Tyrion, I did not—"

"Spare me," Tyrion interrupted again. "He gave her to the barracks and forced me to watch as they raped her repeatedly and then he… he…" Tyrion could not finish, the words too painful to utter even now, thirteen years later. He saw the reproach in Tysha's eyes as he sank into her, felt the blood that ran from between her legs, and heard the sob that tore through her when he pressed the gold coin into her hand. _A Lannister is worth more_. Tyrion glared hatefully at his brother. "Where is Varys waiting?"

"Ahead, just through that door and down the corridor." Jaime gestured towards the heavy oaken door barring their way. He strode forwards, placed the key in the lock and turned. He was going to push the door open when Tyrion elbowed him aside and pushed the door open himself with a loud creak. The corridor beyond was empty but stretched further than the eye could see, fading into darkness. "I will lock the door behind you," Jaime said.

He began to pull the door closed and had nearly shut it when Tyrion called his name. Hope for forgiveness and reconciliation bloomed in Jaime's chest. "Yes, Tyrion?"

"Cersei has been fucking the Kettleblack brothers." With that, Tyrion pulled the door shut himself, leaving Jaime alone with only his own bitter failings for company.

* * *

Catelyn rose slowly at the assassin's command, her eyes fixed on his through the looking glass as the blade continued to flash in the candlelight. She stepped away from the dressing table and crossed to the centre of the bedchamber, every move of hers watched and assessed. The assassin stood before the door that led to the solar, blocking her only escape. Brienne was stationed outside the apartments, within hearing distance should Catelyn scream, but she knew that the dagger would slash her throat before her sworn sword even drew her blade. She could feel herself trembling and wrapped thin arms around her body, wishing that she had lit a fire in the hearth.

"Very good, my lady."

"How did you get in here?" Catelyn asked in a surprisingly steady voice.

"Through a secret tunnel that leads directly into this bedchamber," the assassin said, stepping further into the candlelight. Oberyn Martell was considered handsome by many but Catelyn failed to see it; she presumed that it was his wit and passion that truly enticed men and women alike. He also had a certain flair and accentuated this by wearing brilliant cloaks of fiery red silk and shirts decorated with bronze disks. All Catelyn saw, however, was his high widow's peak, his lined face and sharp nose, and his viper eyes that held her captive as forcefully as the dagger in his hand. "As I am sure you are aware, Maegor the Cruel built many secret passageways through the very foundations of the Red Keep, known only to him. A truly beautiful woman told me that she once used the secret passage that leads into here herself and was able to remember the path in the dark. I made her promise to show me the way."

"And what is it that you want, Prince Oberyn?"

"Revenge." His viper's eyes glittered with malice.

Catelyn's pink tongue darted out to wet her suddenly too-dry lips. "Are you here to kill me?" she asked, hoarsely.

"Yes," he answered truthfully. "I have waited almost seventeen years to extract revenge on the Lannister's for what they did to my sister, Elia, and her children. Do you know what they did to them?"

"I have heard stories," Catelyn said softly.

"As have I." Prince Oberyn's eyes flashed dangerously. "Rhaenys screamed when they dragged her from beneath her father's bed and continued screaming, even as Ser Amory Lorch stabbed her half a hundred times. The Lannister's would have me believe that it was Ser Amory who murdered Elia and Aegon, too, but we all know the tale, do we not? I am sure that you have heard how The Mountain ripped Aegon from my sister's teat and dashed his brains against the wall before raping Elia and murdering her, too. Tell me, in the tales that you have heard, who gave the order for Ser Gregor Clegane to murder the royal family?"

Catelyn hesitated before whispering, "Tywin."

"Tywin Lannister," Prince Oberyn agreed. His eyes roamed over her body calculatingly, taking in every inch. "It appears Lord Tywin still has an affinity for hurting women."

Catelyn's sleep shift was sleeveless and she followed Prince Oberyn's gaze to her upper arms where the vivid, purple finger marks stood out in stark contrast to her pale skin. Catelyn longed to retrieve her green robe and cover them up but did not dare move when caught within the viper's eyes.

"I remember first seeing you at the wedding of Joffrey and Margaery," he recalled, as though the memory was from years ago as opposed to mere days. "I had never seen a woman who looked so sad. I watched whilst the Lannister's tormented you with the dwarf-war, the boy-king laughing so hard that wine spewed from his nose and mouth, and yet you sat silent and dignified. It was your eyes that showed your grief, your pain." He studied the lethal looking dagger in his hand for a moment. "I would remove that pain, my lady."

She shook her head as her breaths turned sharper. "You mask your intention with pretty words, Prince Oberyn, but do not pretend that this is anything other than murder."

The Dornishman inclined his head towards her. "You are correct, my lady," he said politely. "I did originally have a very different plan: when I learned that The Mountain that Rides would be Cersei's champion if Tyrion chose a trial by combat, I thought that I could mayhaps volunteer to be Tyrion's champion, publicly force a confession from Ser Gregor that named both himself and Lord Tywin as Elia's murderers and then kill him. Next I would kill Lord Tywin and my revenge would be complete. I realised, however, that this plan was too simple, too quick; I want Lord Tywin to suffer as Elia and her children suffered. I want him to know and understand pain. I have been looking for the chink in Lord Tywin's armour for a long time and it appears I have finally found it."

"I mean nothing to him."

"I do not think so," he disagreed. "No one ever thought that Tywin Lannister would remarry after Joanna's death and yet, here we are." He held up a hand to silence her. "I know what you will say: this marriage is one of political strategy and mayhaps it was, once, but I have seen the way Lord Tywin looks at you. I saw the way he defended and protected you when Cersei accused you and your daughter of plotting her son's death with the Imp. I see the way he treats you as an equal. He would do none of these things if he did not care for you… I am truly sorry that it has come to this, my lady, but your death with bring Lord Tywin's pain." He eyed her carefully, steadily, as though he was not planning on plunging his dagger through her heart at any moment. "Do you not wish to be with your husband again? Or with your children? I can make that happen."

 _Yes_ , Catelyn desperately wanted to say. For one wild moment she thought of finding Ned again beneath the weirwood tree in Winterfell's Godswood, she thought of again seeing Robb, Rickon, Bran and possibly even Arya. Instead, Catelyn gathered her courage to shake her head for a second time. "Ned followed the Old Gods, his afterlife is much different to my own, and how could I face my children again knowing that I had willingly left my last ones behind? Sansa and…" she trailed off, a hand creeping towards her stomach unconsciously.

Prince Oberyn followed the movement but Catelyn diverted her hand, scratching at her hip to distract from the original action but the Dornishman was not so easily fooled. He gave her a soft smile. "I thought as much," he said. "I can read women exceptionally well and I recognised a woman carrying the most wonderful of secrets in you. How far along are you?"

"Not very long; a couple of months, at most," she admitted quietly, hopefully.

He gave a contemplative nod. When he spoke, his tone was conversational and almost friendly, despite his words, "After I have killed you, I will cut the babe from your belly and present your bodies to Lord Tywin, wrapped in Lannister cloaks as Lord Tywin did to Robert Baratheon with my sister, niece and nephew."

He stalked closer towards her and Catelyn felt the panic claw up her throat, almost choking her in its determination for release. Wind howled against the castle walls and Catelyn could not suppress a shudder. "Please," she whispered, a sob parting her lips. "Please, you do not need to do this."

"For Elia, for Aegon and for Rhaenys I must."

He held the dagger higher, the point a few inches away from her breast. She could feel her heart thudding, as though protesting against the sudden loss of her life. Prince Oberyn's eyes steeled with determination and Catelyn prepared herself for what was to come. Vaguely, she heard the pounding of a drum from far away, the _boom doom boom_ mingling with the faint ringing of bells. _She had lived too long, and Ned was waiting._ Then the quarrel exploded through his chest, spraying her with blood.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** A very happy new year to one and all! Thank you so, SO much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - each one was like a little Christmas present and I'm glad that you're enjoying how this story is playing out. Unfortunately, Chapter 13 was unlucky for some but hopefully bright futures will be ahead for the rest of the characters - who am I kidding? I love angst too much! I'm back to work Monday and whilst I love my job, I hate that it takes away from my writing time so it'll probably be back to the weekend updates until the next half term. I hope you all enjoy how this next chapter plays out.

In case it wasn't clear last chapter (I was supposed to mention it in the A/N and then completely forgot!) the events at the moment are not necessarily happening in chronological order but parallel to each other.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Fourteen**

Ragged breaths and stumbling steps were the only sounds made as Tyrion descended the corridor, a torch taken from one of the wall brackets lighting his way. Soon, the corridor opened into a circular chamber where five doors led off into different directions and a ladder ascended towards a hole in the ceiling. Varys stood in the centre of the chamber, soft hands rubbing over each other and wearing a quizzical smile, as though Tyrion's escape amused him greatly.

"I thought you may have lost your way," the eunuch said with a giggle. Tyrion was looking around interestedly, holding the torch aloft to cast its light wide. Varys gestured towards a door behind him, silken sleeves fluttering. "This way, my lord."

"What are through those other doors?" Tyrion asked curiously.

"Oh, the things made of nightmares."

Tyrion looked down and realised that he stood on a large mosaic: red and black tiles arranged to depict a three headed dragon. He recalled Shae telling him of this place, describing how she had seen the mosaic beneath her blindfold the first time Varys had brought her to his bedchamber. The dwarf looked at the rungs that ascended through the hole in the ceiling and disappeared into darkness.

"We are beneath the Tower of the Hand," he stated.

"We are," Varys agreed, his eyes fixed on Tyrion's.

Tyrion slowly walked towards the ladder, placing a hand upon the rung, contemplating. _Tysha_. "How many rungs are there before I reach the bedchamber?" he asked.

"Two hundred and thirty," Varys answered promptly, "but truly, my lord, there is little time for such folly."

"Does the ladder ascend straight into the chamber?"

"No, my lord, there is a corridor that leads towards the chamber. The first door opens to the corridor outside the apartments, the second into the solar and finally the third opens in the fireplace of the bedchamber." Varys was still looking at him, reading him. "My lord—"

"You may stay or you may leave," Tyrion said calmly, dropping his torch to the floor where it rolled but stayed aflame, "but I have business above to be taken care of before I go."

Tyrion began to climb the rungs, counting carefully. If the corridors had been dark then it was nothing compared to this climb where the black oblivion pushed upon him from every angle. His arms were beginning to shake with exertion, his legs ached and the sweat made his tunic cling to him stickily. Finally, he reached the final rung and stepped onto the shaft that would lead towards the Hand's apartments, towards his father. He walked through the shaft quite easily, despite it being a cramped space, and passed the first door that would lead to the corridor outside the Hand's apartments.

"C'mon, just say: the Imp or the Mountain, who ya gonna bet on?" he heard one of his father's guards ask.

"I do not bet on anything," a stiff, feminine voice answered. He guessed it to be the Lady Brienne of Tarth. A faint warning signalled in his head but Tyrion ignored it, his mind consumed only with his father and Tysha.

He passed the second door that would lead to the solar and continued down the passageway. The third door was ajar. A small sliver of golden light penetrated the dark but the way was blocked by a woman crouched by the entrance. Shae did not see him but he saw her. He remembered the laughter that had rung in the Great Hall; _My giant. My giant of Lannister_. Tyrion crept up behind her and wrapped his hands around her slender throat, sending her sprawling forwards. He clambered onto her back, pinning her down as he squeezed the life out of her. Rage consumed him and Shae's life, draining out of her body, fed it. Her arms flailed, her legs kicked, her body thrashed until finally, she lay still beneath him.

Tyrion slowly unclenched his fingers from around her neck and clamoured forward. He left her behind him, dead. Reaching the doorway, he could not see much into the darkened room but he heard voices.

"I mean nothing to him." _Catelyn_. Of course, that had been the warning - if Lady Brienne was guarding the door then her mistress would be inside.

"I do not think so. No one ever thought that Tywin Lannister would remarry after Joanna's death and yet, here we are."

 _Prince Oberyn?_ Now Tyrion was thoroughly puzzled and confusion dampened his rage. He began to piece things together; why would Shae be crouching in the hidden passageway? Why would Prince Oberyn be in his father and good-mother's bedchamber? And, now that he thought of it, why was Lady Catelyn's voice filled with such fear when she spoke? Ever so slowly, he pushed the hidden door open further until he could squeeze through and found himself within the unlit hearth. The Hand's bedchamber was dark for only one candle was lit in the entire room which Tyrion found odd, for there was a definite chill in the air. He found Prince Oberyn holding a dagger against Lady Catelyn even odder.

"I see the way he treats you as an equal. He would do none of these things if he did not care for you..."

So focused on each other, neither of them noticed Tyrion as he stepped out from the hearth, cloaked in the gloom of the bedchamber. Their conversation continued and Tyrion half-listened as he walked towards a large wood and iron chest that stood against the wall. Climbing on top, he quietly lifted the crossbow from its hook on the wall, took down a leather quiver of quarrels and then dropped from the chest on silent feet.

The lone candle flickered as the wind picked up and Tywin used the noise to mask him cocking the bowstring. He placed a bolt into the notch and aimed the bow at the middle of Prince Oberyn's back.

"How far along are you?" Prince Oberyn asked.

"Not very long; a couple of months, at most."

Tyrion hesitated, lowering the crossbow a fraction. He was a clever man; he could accurately guess what they were talking of. _So Lady Catelyn is carrying Father's child. No doubt he is delighted: finally a child that he can mould to be the perfect future Lord of Casterly Rock._ Tyrion thought of Tysha and what his father did to her. Did his father not deserve to know pain? How sweet it would be to see everything his father held dear ripped away from him. How delicious to stand back and watch as his father destroyed himself with the knowledge that his potential heir had been murdered before he was even born.

Tyrion wanted to walk away. He wished to leave this place and let things unfold but, for the second time, he found himself saving Lady Catelyn's life. Strengthening his resolve, Tyrion realigned the crossbow and shot. The quarrel flew through the air and landed its target, embedding in Prince Oberyn's back until the tip burst through his chest. Blood sprayed over Catelyn, spotting her linen shift, and she gave a loud wail of shock and fright, trembling hands raising to cover her mouth.

Prince Oberyn lifted a hand to his chest which came away sticky with blood. He half-turned, graced Tyrion with a red smile and then stumbled forward. Catelyn easily knocked the arm that held the dagger away as he fell, the floor slapping the Dornish prince in the face. Catelyn looked to her saviour, tear-filled blue eyes finding a stunned Tyrion who had lowered the now-unloaded crossbow to his side.

"Tyrion…" she breathed, a lone tear rolling down her cheek.

The door to the chamber was thrown open and his father burst in with the Lady Brienne, both with their swords drawn. "Catelyn!" Tywin called frantically as Brienne said, "My lady, we heard your cry."

Half-crazed green eyes flecked with gold raked over Catelyn, inspecting her pale pallor, blood spotted sleep shift and tear-stained cheeks. Tywin tore his eyes away from his wife and found his son. " _You!_ " he snarled, murder in his eyes as his hand tightened around the longsword.

Catelyn shook her head frantically. "No," she cut in, voice pitched higher with desperation. "No, Tywin, it's not what it looks like; Tyrion saved me."

Tywin finally noticed Prince Oberyn, lying in a steadily growing pool of his own blood. He turned very white and took note of the quarrel standing upright in the Dornishman's back as well as the dagger still clutched in his fist. His eyes turned to Tyrion once more. "You..." he repeated, weakly.

"Yes, me," Tyrion said tartly. "It appears out dear Dornish prince was about to extract his revenge on you by murdering your wife and the child that she carries. If his threats were true then he was planning on presenting their bodies to you as you did with the Targaryen children."

Tyrion felt a certain relish at seeing his father turn a shade paler. Tywin's sword wavered and he lowered it as though the blade was suddenly too heavy. He sheathed the longsword clumsily, the blade rasping against its scabbard. Tywin stepped around Prince Oberyn and pulled Catelyn into his arms. She clung to him as he pressed his lips against her crown before tucking her head beneath his chin, her cheek resting against his tunic. Tyrion saw her relax against him; content and safe now within his embrace. Watching them together, Tyrion found himself envious of what they had; there was definite affection between them both. His uncle had claimed that love was a strong word for what they shared but Tyrion was beginning to wonder whether it truly was as far-fetched as Kevan believed.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, suddenly feeling an intruder, and steeled himself before saying, "I can only assume that my whore was aiding him; Shae was waiting in the secret passage that opens to this bedchamber via the hidden door in the hearth. She used to use the passage when visiting me when I was the Hand," he admitted but failed to mention Varys' involvement; the eunuch had risked all for him tonight and Tyrion would not betray him now, not when it was more useful to have the Spider as an ally. "I suggest that you remove her body before the entire tower stinks."

He saw Catelyn shudder at the implication. Tywin gave a curt nod. "I will see to it," he said stiffly.

"I will be leaving now," he told them firmly. "There is someone that I need to find. If you wish to stop me, Father, then I am afraid you will have to tell Lady Brienne to run me through."

He was about to turn when Catelyn halted him. "Tyrion... thank you."

He turned his eyes upon her, still encased within his father's arms. He ignored the latter but graced her with a fond and reassuring smile. "You needn't thank me, my lady. I only did as any good-son should do." Only then did Tyrion looked at his father, mismatched eyes regarding him carefully as he said in firm, icy tones, "I killed one of your wives and saved the other: my debt to you is paid."

Tywin struggled with words for a moment before his face was wiped blank and he turned distant and formal. "The Lady Brienne will escort you from the castle," he said. "If anyone should ask, she will tell them that you have been released by the Hand of the King following new evidence that has come to light."

Tyrion gave his father a curt nod before turning. Neither father nor son said goodbye to each other before the latter left with Brienne, waddling out of the bedchamber, across the solar and disappearing through the main door of their apartments. Once the door clicked shut, Tywin let out a long sigh of relief and held Catelyn tighter to him. He rubbed her back soothingly but could feel the way she trembled within his embrace and the gooseflesh that rose along her bare arms. He tucked her into his side and carefully steered them around Prince Oberyn's body, leading his wife into the solar and towards a chair by the fire that she settled into gratefully.

Wordlessly, Catelyn watched as Tywin picked up the poker and stoked the embers in the hearth until the fire crackled merrily, flames leaping up and warming her. He then disappeared into their bedchamber and returned a moment later carrying a shawl which he draped over her shoulders. Catelyn clutched the material and tugged it tighter around herself before gracing him with a tired smile. Tywin did not return her smile, his face tense and serious.

"I'm fine," she told him.

"I would rather be certain," he replied. Tywin walked over to the door that led into the corridor beyond and pulled it open. His personal guard stood outside. "Fetch the household guard and tell them to come here at once. Also rouse Ser Kevan, my wife's handmaiden, the steward and Grand Maester Pycelle. Tell them that they are urgently needed in the Tower of the Hand but say no more."

"Yes, m'lord," the guard answered before leaving to carry out his task.

Tywin shut the door firmly and returned to Catelyn. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Grand Maester Pycelle?"

"You need to be examined," he said. "Pycelle can check on you and the babe."

Catelyn's face steeled for the first time since Prince Oberyn's confrontation. "No," she said resolutely. "I will not have that man examine me or have anything to do with my babe."

"He is the Grand Maester," Tywin reminded her tiredly.

"He is a poisonous and treacherous lech with wandering hands and bad breath," Catelyn retorted. For the briefest moment the corner of Tywin's lips twitched and she stared, dumbstruck. He took on a look of severe disapproval but she was not convinced, knowing that he carefully hid a smile. Tension broken, she admitted, "I do not trust him. He has been whispering in Cersei's ear; as soon as he confirmed that I was with child, he told her."

Tywin's face darkened at this information, all traces of amusement banished. Pycelle was loyal to House Lannister and none more so than Lord Tywin but it appeared the Grand Maester regarded Cersei's good favour above Tywin's wife. "I will speak with him," Tywin said.

"By all means do," she replied before stubbornly adding, "but I will not have him touching me or this child."

"You need to be examined this evening," he told her firmly, "and you have two choices: Pycelle or Qyburn."

"Qyburn is not a true maester," she said faintly. Catelyn had only seen the former maester occasionally but, despite his outward grandfatherly appearance, distrusted him more than Pycelle. She'd heard the rumours of how he had lost his position at the Citadel after performing medical experiments on living victims. She sighed, "Fine. I'll allow Pycelle to examine the babe."

There was a knock on the door and Tywin answered it, one hand ready on the pommel of his sword, before allowing Val and Ulwyck to enter. Val wore a robe hastily pulled over her sleep shift and her shock of grey hair stood in all directions, as though she had been roused from her bed. Ulwyck was still fully dressed and peered interestedly at Catelyn through the eyeglasses pinching his nose.

"Good evening, my dear," Ulwyck addressed Catelyn before turning to Tywin. "My lord, your guard said that there has been an incident of some kind."

Tywin closed the door behind them. "What I tell you stays within these chambers until the right time," he began, his tone threatening and commanding. "Prince Oberyn and a female accomplice gained entry into these chambers through a secret passage tonight and attempted to murder Lady Catelyn." There was a pause as both Val and Ulwyck cast stunned glances in her direction. "She is, as you can see, unharmed but I have asked for Grand Maester Pycelle to examine her. Both Prince Oberyn and his accomplice were killed during the rescue. Their bodies are currently in the bedchamber and hidden passage beyond. Ulwyck, we will require you to prepare one of the other bedchambers for our use tonight. You will also need to oversee the discreet removal of the bodies when the household guard arrives. Val, Lady's Catelyn's clothes are stained with blood. She requires a new shift and warmer clothing to stave off a chill; see to it."

"Yes, m'lord," Val said demurely.

Catelyn tried not to feel too affronted that her handmaiden was less rude to Tywin than herself. She pulled herself to standing and approached them, squeezing Tywin's forearm briefly before following Val to the garderobe. The small room was warm with the sconces burning brightly and Catelyn felt some of the lingering chill leave her body. She removed the shawl that Tywin had draped over her shoulders and Catelyn saw the way Val's eyes lingered on her blood spotted shift before the handmaiden took the material in her hands and guided it over Catelyn's head. Val opened the armoire where clothing hung and a basin of water was kept.

"It'll be cold," she warned Catelyn before dipping a cloth into the bowl. Val squeezed the excess water from the cloth before proceeding to scrub the blood from Catelyn's body. It was indeed cold and it made her shiver but Catelyn would rather that than have Prince Oberyn's blood on her. Once clean, Val picked out a long-sleeved sleep shift and dressed Catelyn in it, pairing the garment with her green robe and a pair of soft, doeskin slippers. Catelyn knotted the robe at the waist herself, grateful to feel truly warm once more.

"You're still too skinny," Val criticised. "You should be eating more now that you're carrying a bairn."

Catelyn looked at her in surprise. "Who told you?" she asked suspiciously.

Val clucked her tongue. "You think I could be a handmaiden this long and not know the signs?" she asked. "I assume Lord Tywin knows?"

Catelyn nodded. "He does."

"Good. Now, is there anything else, m'lady? Only I would much rather not stand around in this stuffy closet."

"That will be all, Val."

They returned to the solar and Val busied herself with her usual duties, pouring wine for the men that had arrived. In the time that it had taken to be cleaned and reclothed, Grand Maester Pycelle and Ser Kevan had both arrived and sat talking with Tywin at his desk. The household guard were also busy, attending to the bodies in the adjoining bedchamber. Tywin, Pycelle and Ser Kevan all stopped talking upon Catelyn's entry and the aged Grand Maester stood, shuffling towards her. He took her hand into both of his own.

"My lady, Lord Tywin has informed me of the events that transpired this evening," he began. "I have to say that I never trusted Prince Oberyn; more viper than man, I am afraid. It is good to see you looking so well, however."

"Thank you, Grand Maester," she said courteously, hiding her displeasure well.

"Ulwyck has arranged a room for your examination," Tywin said, having stood and approached them during the conversation. "I will wait outside."

Catelyn and Pycelle entered the second bedchamber that had not been used in far too long. Ulwyck had worked quickly and efficiently, setting a fire, making the bed, dusting down the surfaces and sprinkling the floor with fresh rushes. Pycelle motioned for Catelyn to lay on the bed and she did, sitting propped against the headboard. He began his examination by taking hold of her wrist and pressing two fingers to her pulse, counting each beat and then humming to himself. He pressed a papery hand to her forehead and then tilted her head back, his fingers massaging beneath her jaw and down her throat.

"Follow my finger, my lady," he requested, releasing her head and holding a forefinger up. Her eyes tracked the movement as she attempted not to wrinkle her nose as his rank breath puffed into her face. "And sit forward, Lady Catelyn. Deep breaths, now." Pycelle pressed his ear to the middle of her back, listening as she inhaled and exhaled slowly. He hummed again but said nothing of importance. "Lie flat and I will examine the babe."

Catelyn opened her robe and lay back, letting Pycelle press his fingers into her belly through the shift. He tracked a path across where her child grew. When finished, she sat up again and tightened the robe around her once more but Pycelle did not tell her the results of her examination, instead saving that information for her lord husband. Pycelle left, the door stood ajar behind him, and she caught a snatch of Tywin and Ser Kevan's conversation.

"…do it quickly and quietly," Tywin was saying. "I do not believe Prince Oberyn would have told anyone of his schemes, aside from his paramour. Join the household guard with the goldcloaks and strike during the night—"

"My lords," Pycelle interrupted. They then spoke quietly and Catelyn could not hear her prognosis but it mattered not; her mind now consumed with Lannister guards and goldcloaks to do… what? _Strike during the night_. Those words haunted her until Tywin stepped into the chamber and she gave him a tight smile.

He crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to run over the cap of her hair. "Pycelle says that you and the babe are doing well," he told her. "He is concerned that your skin is still clammy and pulse too quick but he believes that a good rest will cure that. He has given me this," Tywin held up a small vial of white liquid. "Milk of the poppy; just a small dose to send you to sleep."

Catelyn would have been suspicious of Pycelle offering her a potion if she did not know that he feared and revered Tywin more than any other. Tywin unstoppered the vial and handed it to her, watching as she tipped the contents down her throat. The effects would take some time to work.

"Who were you and Ser Kevan talking of?" she asked conversationally, though she knew Tywin could tell that she burned with curiosity.

"It does not concern you," he replied, not unkindly.

Still, she turned sharper, "You spoke of striking in the night. Considering what I have just had to endure due to your forces striking in the past, I feel I have a right to know."

Tywin narrowed his eyes at her but bit back his frustration. "Prince Oberyn is dead but this castle still holds three hundred of his men who, at the present, do not know of their Prince's demise. When they learn of Prince Oberyn's fate what do you think will happen? I am trying to prevent a revolt from occurring within the Red Keep itself."

She thought of all the men Ned had brought to King's Landing with him, good, honest Winterfell men who had never returned. "You will kill them all?" she asked but he did not reply. "Tywin…"

"Catelyn," he growled, "Prince Oberyn tried to kill you, in cold blood for something that you did not do. I cannot let that go unpunished."

"And you haven't," she soothed. "Prince Oberyn is dead and his death is justifiable but murdering three hundred innocent men is not. Arrest the Donishmen and keep them as hostages if you must but do not kill them or else war with Dorne is merely a hairsbreadth away."

He said something in reply but Catelyn did not catch it, the milk of the poppy starting to take effect. She settled down against the pillows and Tywin stood, pulling the furs out from beneath her and tucking them back around her body. She gave him a sleepy smile. "Will you stay?" she asked.

"I will stay until you're asleep," he promised.

"Good," she mumbled. Tywin resumed his seat on the edge of the bed and reached out a hand, pressing it against her forehead and feeling how clammy she was for himself. Pycelle had assured him that she would be fine and he hoped, for the Maester's sake as well as anyone else's, that he was correct. He had lost one wife — he would not lose another. Alone and quiet, Tywin contemplated how their lives would have been different if he had chosen her sooner, if he had married her after Brandon Stark's passing. Surely, there would be much less pain between them. He would not have been responsible for the murder of her children for she would not have had any children that were not their own. He knew, however, that he would not have chosen her then for he had not even chosen her now; circumstance had pushed them together and they had made what they could out of it. Tywin could not say that Catelyn loved him, nor would he say that he loved her. Catelyn was something to him though; an itch beneath the skin that had taken root and refused to leave.

Eddard Stark had been a good man. Tywin Lannister was not. It was hard to compete with a good man and yet Tywin found himself doing it because, even if he never succeeded in being 'good', he could be good to his wife.

He knew Catelyn had fallen asleep because her breaths were deep and even, chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. There would be bloodshed tonight, confusion to come and a skirmish to lead but for a few moments he took comfort in sitting beside his wife as she slept, peaceful and safe. He would post guards at every door between the entrance to the tower and here and then, when the fight was over, he would drag his weary body to this place of sanctuary.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** On with the show. It's a little later than usual because week 1 of the new term just took it out of me but there's plenty more to come with this story so stay tuned! I know there was a slight problem this week with the site but I think it's been resolved now and hopefully it won't affect this chapter. Thank you to everyone that's still following this story. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but it is what it is and I hope the upcoming chapters are up to a better scratch.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Fifteen**

Tywin cut a striking figure in his crimson armour, highlighted with gold and matched with a cloth-of-gold cape that flowed down his back. He stood on a raised platform in the upper bailey, pacing as he looked down upon the assembled Dornishmen; they had been caught unawares, most dragged from their beds by the Goldcloaks, so looked a ragged bunch in breeches and sleep shirts, shivering in the courtyard. They had also been stripped of all weaponry and now stood surrounded by Lannister guards and the Goldcloaks, each heavily armoured. Prince Oberyn's paramour, Ellaria Sand, had been found in his bedchamber, fully clothed and packed as though ready to flee. Tywin, having already suspected that she knew of the Dornish Prince's plan, had specifically sent Ser Kevan to apprehend her in an attempt to prevent what had happened with Elia Martell and the Targaryen children.

Ellaria now stood at the head of the Dornish group, her silk dress blowing around her legs and a look of deep mutiny upon her face as she glared daringly up at Tywin. Her boldness reminded him of his father's mistresses and it left a bitter taste within his mouth.

Ser Kevan mounted the platform and approached his brother. "Have they all been arrested?" Tywin asked brusquely.

"Most," Ser Kevan admitted, "Nearly one third of Prince Oberyn's party were not in the castle; we suspect they are frequenting the brothels. I can send men to apprehend them too, if that is your wish."

"It would cause a bloodbath in the streets," Tywin replied. "No. I want this dealt with swiftly. How many casualties?"

"A few; one Dornishman took out three of our guards with a dagger concealed on his person, some have been wounded in fighting and seven Dornishmen preferred to fight to the death than surrender." In truth, these casualties were minor in Tywin's opinion; by striking in the night they had caught the Dornish unaware and therefore limited the amount of fighting.

"Where is Oberyn?!" A voice demanded from below. Tywin turned cold eyes upon Ellaria who glared back and shouted again, her accented lilt lifting above the din of the upper bailey. "Bring him to us. Oberyn always said the Lannister's could not be trusted and it appears he spoke truly. The Lannister's have no honour, arresting us in the middle of the night with no explanation or warning."

Tywin Lannister was no fool but it appeared Ellaria Sand was. Even outnumber and unarmed, she hoped to rile the Dornishmen enough to start a brawl. Tywin stood tall and firm over them all and said in carrying tones, "Prince Oberyn is dead."

"You lie!" Ellaria accused and others took up the cry, shouting obscenities at him. The Lannister guards and Goldcloaks drew their swords and the Dornish huddled closer together, shying away from the blades.

"Prince Oberyn," he continued in a voice that silenced them all, "was killed during a failed assassination attempt on Lady Catelyn Lannister; an unarmed and innocent woman. Your Prince believed that he was extracting revenge and justice for crimes committed against the Martells by killing a woman who'd had nothing to do with these crimes. I name Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell attempted murderer and any who knew of this plot or aided in this plot shall be tried for the same crimes."

The guards surrounding the Dornish took one step closer, tightening their circle around the prisoners. Tywin thought of how easy it would be to slaughter them all, to end this now and speak no more of it. "Your horses," Tywin continued, "have been removed from the stables and await in the lower bailey. You will ride from the Red Keep, gather your men currently in the city, and return to Dorne. You have until sunrise. At first light, the City Watch will sweep through the city and kill any Dornishman that they find, naming them traitors to the crown."

"You will not get away with this," Ellaria declared, "When Dorne rises against you, you will all die screaming."

"We shall see," Tywin said coldly. He gave a curt nod to Addam Marbrand, the Commander of the City Watch, who began to order his troops into escorting the Dornish from the Red Keep. By the time every last Dornishman had left the keep and the castle was secured behind them, it was well into night. More than ten thousand stars shone over the city as Tywin crossed the courtyard and returned to the Tower of the Hand, noting that two guards had been stationed at every door. Lady Brienne stood on the final door that led from the solar to Catelyn and Tywin's temporary bedchamber, a look of grim determination upon her less-than-handsome face. Tywin knew that Brienne could not have been aware of the secret passage - anymore than he had been privy to its existence - but he still harboured a certain resentment in knowing that the Maid from Tarth had been on duty during the botched assassination attempt that easily could have claimed Catelyn's life.

 _If Tyrion had not_ … but Tywin would not let that thought go further; he had spent too long holding his son accountable for the faults in his life that changing his feelings now felt too alien a concept. He could appreciate his youngest son's efforts tonight but that mayhaps was as far as his feelings would go on the matter.

Tywin entered the bedchamber where Catelyn slept soundly, her even breathing and the roaring fire the only sounds in the silent room. Val sat as vigil at Catelyn's side, embroidery in her lap which she set down upon Tywin's entry and rose to greet her master.

"How does she fare?" Tywin asked. The only sign of movement was the rise and fall of Catelyn's chest.

"Well, m'lord," Val answered. "Lady Catelyn has slept these past few hours without any disruption."

Tywin thought of the many nights when she cried out in her sleep, calling for her lost children or husband. "Good, that's good. You may return to your chambers until the morning," he dismissed.

Val gave a stiff curtsey and left the chamber, taking her embroidery with her. Tywin resumed the vigil, seating himself beside the bed despite there being plenty of room for them both. He had barely slept in the last three days and his body was exhausted but the headache that had plagued him since the previous evening stabbed behind his temples, making it difficult to fully relax. His mind was a whirl as he thought of the potential fallout that would occur with Prince Oberyn's death: they were not long out of the War of the Five Kings, Stannis Baratheon continued to wear his crown and the Riverlands were now a mess of loyalists and rebels, could they really afford a war between the Lannister's and Martell's?

Tywin remembered once telling his young cupbearer, Nan, that the War of the Five Kings would be his last war and the one that he was remembered for. Had he spoken too soon? Catelyn shifted in her sleep but the usual shouts did not come, she merely sighed and slept on as the fire chased the shadows from the chamber.

* * *

The news of Prince Oberyn's assassination attempt and subsequent death spread rapidly through the Red Keep. Many people stopped by the Hand's apartments to offer their well-wishes to Catelyn, instead finding her lord husband who told them that she was resting. All of them lingered, eager for Tywin's account of what had transpired the previous evening and he 'let slip' to Lady Tanda Stokeworth that Prince Oberyn had admitted to poisoning Joffrey.

"But all those witness testimonies…" Lady Tanda said.

"Tyrion did many things on the day of the wedding that were misconstrued as people believed him guilty. Ser Dontos and the whore were working for Prince Oberyn so gave false accounts, blaming Tyrion for a crime he did not commit. Ser Dontos expected Prince Oberyn to release him from the dungeons so admitted to his involvement in the King's murder," Tywin lied smoothly. "Prince Oberyn was arrogant; he assumed that he would be able to slip in and out of these chambers undetected so that by the time he left King's Landing he would have murdered two Lannister's and orchestrated the execution of a third."

When Lady Tanda had left, brimming with knowledge, Tywin had felt confident that she would spread his tale as far and wide as possible. So far no one had exactly asked how or why Tyrion had been out of his cell although Tywin assumed that Tyrion's elder brother had had a hand, both real and golden, in his escape. Once alone again, Tywin had proceeded to write a letter to Prince Doran Martell, explaining events and accusing the Dornishman's brother of treason. He also stated that if Dorne were to arm themselves against the crown then it would lead to another war.

 _In these times of peril, where loyalties are often questioned and distinguished, I ask that you choose a wiser path than Prince Oberyn. Soon our houses shall be joined through the union of Trystane of House Nymeros Martell and Myrcella of House Baratheon but a happy union cannot lie ahead if the betrothed's father and grandfather are warring._

 _As a sign of goodwill I will return Prince Oberyn's body to you so that he may be buried with the highest honour in Dorne..._

Tywin dipped his quill in the ink again but a knock at the door stayed his hand. "Come in," he growled, getting impatient with each interruption. The door opened and Sansa entered, looking ashen-faced. "My lady," he greeted, "no doubt you are here to inquire after your mother's health."

"Is it true?" she asked, her voice pitched higher than usual with fright. "Did Prince Oberyn try to murder my mother? They say Lord Tyrion stopped him and has now left the castle as a free man."

Tywin inclined his head towards a chair opposite him at the desk. It was the same chair Catelyn often frequented, if she had not placed herself in his own chair - a fact that should have irritated him more than it amused him. "Take a seat, Lady Sansa." Sansa did as she was told, sitting upright and primly on the edge of the seat. She said nothing, waiting for Tywin to speak. "It is true; Prince Oberyn found a way into our private chambers and held a dagger against your mother, intending to murder her for something that happened long ago. He believed that her death would make him feel better, I suppose. Tyrion saved your mother's life by killing Prince Oberyn and, as you quite rightly said, has now left the castle. He has been acquitted of his crime as Prince Oberyn was the true culprit," he said, finding how easily the lie flowed from his lips. "Your mother is well and currently resting."

"And the babe?" Sansa asked in a timid voice. Tywin hesitated, he had not thought that Catelyn had yet told her daughter that she carried another child. Sansa seemed to read his expression for she said, "I heard a couple of the serving girls talking about it. They said mother is carrying your child."

"I believe your mother was waiting for the right time to tell you," Tywin said, as gently as he allowed himself to be. "But yes, the babe is also fine."

Sansa made an effort of shrugging nonchalantly. "Children often follows marriage," she said. "My mother knows her duty and performs it well."

Tywin regarded her carefully. Sansa was still a maiden and barely more than a child herself but she had had to grow up fast. In truth he did not know whether Tyrion would ever return to claim his young bride and that made her situation particularly difficult. "Sansa," he began carefully, "how would you feel about moving from your quarters above the Kitchen Keep to here? There are plenty of bedchambers available and you would be closer to your mother; you could stay until Tyrion returns from his… travels."

Sansa did not smile but it was the first time Tywin saw his good-daughter look truly happy. Her expressive blue eyes lit up at the proposal. "Truly? I could live here."

"I know it would make your mother happy," he answered truthfully.

"I would like that very much, my lord," Sansa responded, composedly.

"If you speak to my steward, Ulwyck, he is on the ground floor," Tywin explained, "he will arrange the transferal of your belongings and prepare rooms for you."

"Yes, my lord." Sansa stood, curtsied prettily and left the apartments to begin her task immediately.

As the morning drew to a close, Tywin stood and crossed the solar to the second bedchamber where Catelyn was yet to wake. She lay on the pillows, her hair a fiery halo around her and breathing evenly through slightly parted lips. Her cheeks were rosy and warm to the touch when Tywin stroked a finger down one. She roused slowly beneath his ministrations, her eyes fluttering open as she gave him a sleepy smile that caused his chest to clench.

Catelyn gave a small hum of contention. "What time is it?" she asked, her voice still gravelly with sleep.

"Just passed noon," he answered.

"Noon?" she gasped, struggling to sit up. "Why did you not wake me?"

"Relax," he urged soothingly. Tywin took hold of Catelyn's shoulders, preventing her from getting out of the bed. She gave him an impatient look but he ignored her. "After last night, you need to rest."

She could not deny that there was truth in his words; she had not slept so soundly since first arriving in the capital when she had dragged her exhausted body to bed and awoken the next morning still fully-clothed. For the first in a long time, nightmares had not plagued her sleep either.

"My lord," a voice called through the door and Tywin bid them to enter. It was Ulwyck, carrying a tray laden with food. The steward inclined his head to each of them before addressing Catelyn, "It is good to see you looking so well, my dear. Yes, yes, well indeed."

"Thank you, Ulwyck. It is kind of you to say so," she replied politely. Since first meeting Ulwyck, she had grown accustomed to the steward's odd charm through working with him to arrange the Hand's household and maintain the upkeep of the Tower.

"Where would you like this, my lord?" Ulwyck asked. She had noticed priorly that he addressed Tywin more formally but did not let it affront her, almost preferring the familiar 'my dear'. Tywin held his hands out and Ulwyck transferred the tray of food to him. "I also spoke to the young lady and all arrangements are being cared for. She is currently packing with her handmaiden's."

"Thank you," Tywin replied. Catelyn looked between them confusedly but nothing more was said. The steward left and Catelyn sat up in the bed, allowing Tywin to place the tray upon her lap. Ulwyck had spoiled her with boiled eggs, fresh blackberries, a pot of mint tea, crispy bacon and a thick slab of bread. Tywin arranged the pillows behind her, making her more comfortable and she rolled her eyes at the gesture.

"I am not infirm, my lord."

"Gods, Catelyn, will you just allow me to take care of you?" he snapped but the bite was missing from his tone.

She could have written a long list of things that she did not expect Tywin Lannister to do for her and taking care of her would have topped it. _What about conspiring to murder your son?_ A nasty little voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Catelyn gave Tywin a forced smile before turning her attention to the food in front of her. Balancing the tray on her knees she found that, for once, her appetite had left her starving. Lifting the pot of tea, Catelyn poured herself a cup and cradled it between her two hands, the steam warming her face. As she took a sip, she could feel the scars from another assassination attempt pressing against the ceramic.

Once the tea had thoroughly warmed her, she picked up a spoon and tapped it against the egg, breaking the outer shell. Thick, yellow yoke oozed down the side and she broke off a chunk of bread to mop it up before taking a large bite. Tywin had retreated to a seat placed in the corner of the room and watched her carefully, looking amused at her display of hunger. Although the previous night's events had been horrific, it appeared that some good had come from them: the milk of the poppy that had forced her sleep and now the starvation that forced her to eat meant that Catelyn looked healthier than he had ever seen her. The dark circles beneath her eyes were less, the colour remained in her cheeks and her eyes danced in the light of the fire.

Tywin realised that he was staring when she gave him an embarrassed smile. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he said. He thought of Ulwyck's words to her and reiterated, "You _are_ looking well."

She ducked her head shyly. "Thank you, my lord." She studied him carefully and asked softly, "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"There was much to do," he answered stiffly.

Catelyn did not answer but he noticed the frown that puckered her brow before she quickly erased it and looked at him brightly. "Am I allowed to leave this bed today or will you tie me to the bedpost if I attempt any grand escapes?" she asked teasingly.

Tywin rolled his eyes at her tomfoolery. "I will not prevent you from leaving," he said, "but I will insist that you eat your fill of that." He looked pointedly at the tray of food.

Rather than answering, Catelyn cut off a piece of bacon and placed it in her mouth. Now Tyrion's trial was at an end and she knew that she had spent most of the morning asleep, she was eager to get outside and enjoy the day. Once the bacon was swallowed, she asked, "Are you busy today, my lord?"

"I am Hand to the King, I am always busy," Tywin answered. "Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering if you would be inclined to take a turn around the gardens with me," she suggested. "Once I am dressed and presentable, of course."

"It would be my honour to accompany you, my lady."

* * *

The gardens in the Red Keep were full of people, all glad to not be confined to the throne room where Tyrion's trial had taken place. The weather was not so pleasant as the wind whipped through the gardens and grey clouds hung overhead but occasionally they would part to reveal a brief glimmer of sunshine. Catelyn rested her hand in the crook of Tywin's elbow as they walked through the gardens, greeting those that passed them with polite nods. The occasional person stopped them to offer their commiseration over the events of the previous evening but otherwise they were left alone.

They moved away from the main paths of the gardens and towards the more open cliff top. The wind picked up, creating a ripple in the grass and the waves could be heard crashing noisily against the cliff face below. Catelyn recalled the tales about the sacking of King's Landing, remembering how one storyteller told of how Ser Gregor Clegane and his men scaled the cliffs and walls of the castle to gain entry. A shiver crawled up Catelyn's spine that had nothing to do with the wind.

"Something troubles you, my lady?" Tywin was looking at her closer than Catelyn had realised. They stopped walking and he steered her around to face him, his hands gripping each of her elbows in what she thought was meant to be a reassuring gesture. "You have nothing to fear, Catelyn."

"Do I not?" she asked softly, the words carried away quickly on the wind. She thought of Lady Leonette, the bright-eyed wife of Lord Garlan Tyrell, who had stated that she must have been terrified when she and her husband stopped them in the gardens. The younger woman had also lowered her voice and offered congratulations to Catelyn on carrying a child, for apparently someone had let the news slip; whilst Catelyn did not doubt Lady Leonette's commendation, for she had always been genuinely kind to Sansa, it had left an uneasy feeling behind. Catelyn sighed, "Prince Oberyn is dead and it is not his shade that I fear: it is you. It is what you are capable of. How many children were killed when House Tarbeck and House Castamere fell? Aegon was a mere babe and you ordered The Mountain to dash his brains against a wall. And Robb…" she broke off, a grief and pain too deep to ignore passing across her face.

"I have told you before that I will not apologise for destroying an enemy," Tywin said stiffly, dropping his hands from her arms.

"And are your own children enemies?" Catelyn demanded. "I have seen the way you treat your children, Tywin. Jaime who can never live up to your high expectations, Cersei who is so attention-depraved that she will do anything just to be seen by you and Tyrion… his entire life has been made up of your disdain for him!" She turned away from Tywin, composing herself. It began to rain, a fine shower that soaked through them within minutes but neither made any move to return to the Keep. Finally, Catelyn faced her husband once more with sorrow-filled eyes. "I am carrying a child whose father will either bully it into submission or turn his back. A child whose mother does not know if she can truly love it because all she can think of is the amount of people who had to die for it to even be a possibility. So do not tell me I have nothing to fear, for you know _nothing_ of fear."

"'I know nothing of fear?'" he repeated incredulously. "Damn it all, Catelyn! Do you think I felt nothing when the maester told me Joanna was dying? Or when Jaime was a captive of your son's? Do you think I did not care at all when I saw you last night, white and shivering, covered in blood? I feel true fear when the ones that I love are at risk."

He was breathing hard by the end of his admission, an admission that he realised too-late he could not take back. Catelyn's mouth parted ever so slightly, falling open in shock but no words came. Instead, her breaths unfurled from between her rosy lips and he could see his words processing behind her eyes. The pause lengthened as neither said anything and Tywin could not help but wonder why all of their honest conversations happened during arguments. They were still stood close together and neither gave any indication to move, despite the rain turning heavier. Tywin could see Catelyn's hair curling further as rainwater dripped off the ends.

Eventually, Tywin chose decisive action. He bent his head and captured Catelyn's lips in a hard, passionate kiss. She whimpered against his demanding mouth but did not resist, instead bringing her hands up to grasp at his tunic, fisting the material tightly. Tywin wrapped one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders, drawing her further into him. It was not an appropriate kiss to share in public but they were far from the main gardens and Tywin suspected most people had been driven into the castle by the bout of rain. For this moment there was only Tywin, Catelyn and their kiss.

They finally broke apart and Tywin pressed his forehead to hers. If either waited for words of love or compassion to flow from the other's lips then they would have been disappointed. Instead, Catelyn disentangled herself from Tywin's arms, pushed back the hair that was plastered to her face from the rain and offered her hand to Tywin. "We should retire, my lord, before we catch our deaths."

"Yes, my lady," he said stiffly, taking her proffered hand. Her lips looked as swollen as his felt. "We should."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** A huge apology for the long delay, I'm afraid writer's block has hit and it's hit hard. It also probably doesn't help that I've been sucked into reading a mammoth Cat/Ned story and it's brought back all the OTP feels so I feel like a major traitor - but then I remember how much I also love Catelyn/Tywin for completely different reasons and it's all good again.

I know where this story is heading and what the next story arc is but it's taking just a little longer than I would have thought possible to get there. For this reason, this chapter is slightly shorter than usual but I think it's worked out some kinks and made it possible for me to continue on. We'll hopefully be able to carry on with the normal schedule now. As always, thank to those of you who are still sticking with me and enjoying this journey.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Sixteen**

The throne room was not as uncomfortably filled as it had been during Tyrion's trial, nor was there the same thrum of anticipation. Court was in session as nobility and smallfolk sought an audience with the crown. King Tommen sat on a pile of cushions, making the Iron Throne look more comfortable than it was meant to be, and concentrated on the three black kittens running around his feet as opposed to the current proceedings. Tommen had happily bounded up to Catelyn, each kitten squashed and squirming between his pudgy hands, and announced that Ser Pounce, Boots and Lady Whiskers had been gifts from Margaery. Catelyn had made a great show of curtsying to Lady Whiskers, declaring Ser Pounce the most noblest of knights and then placing her hands on her hips and admonishing Boots, calling him a scallywag whilst Tommen clapped and giggled gleefully.

Whilst Tommen was preoccupied with the kittens, his Small Council - led by Tywin - discussed matters of the realm: they settled disputes over land, fined three street urchins for stealing from a tavern and set a dowry between a knight and lady from lesser houses. Catelyn sat and listened to the proceedings halfheartedly, too uncomfortable to truly appreciate being kept inside yet again. Carrying another child was already taking its toll on her body: she felt flushed and altogether too-warm, her breasts were swelling and the nipples tender as they pushed against the fabric of her shift, and her stomach was a roiling ocean. She'd spent the early morning clutching a pail and heaving into it, an unpleasant part of bearing children that Catelyn remembered well. Tywin had stood idly by, unsure of himself and feeling helpless as Catelyn retched into the pail but he'd also disposed of the vomit himself and added extra furs to their bed when she had finally crawled back beneath the covers to snatch a few final hours of sleep.

Later, they had eventually risen for the day to find Sansa already awake and breaking her fast, less tired that they due to her uninterrupted sleep. When Catelyn and Tywin had returned from the gardens some days ago, rainwater dripping from them, she'd been surprised to see Sansa organising the transfer of her belongings to their apartments. Her surprise had turned to gratitude when she realised that Tywin had invited Sansa to live with them during Tyrion's prolonged absence. Since then she had been caught in a limbo: on the one hand, Tywin was the mastermind of the Red Wedding, the orchestrator of her son's murder, the reason her homelands were desecrated however he was also her lord husband whose small gestures of kindness made Catelyn's life bearable.

Whilst Sansa had arranged her bedroom with her handmaiden, Catelyn had quietly admitted to Tywin that she had not yet told Sansa that she was carrying his child.

"She knows," Tywin had murmured quietly. "She spoke of the babe this morning and her concern for you. It appears some of the kitchen servants have loose lips."

"So does Pycelle," she had muttered darkly.

That had led to a long and private conversation between mother and daughter where Catelyn had formally confirmed that she was with child. Sansa had accepted the news that her mother carried her half-brother and good-brother with the grace of a lady.

"Sansa," Catelyn had begun fretfully, "this does not mean that I am forgetting about your brothers and sister. Nor am I replacing them."

"I know, Mother," Sansa had replied. "Bearing your husband's children is your duty." The young maiden had hesitated before adding in a rush, "I do not blame you; I know you have done what you must. This child is a good thing: having Lord Tywin's babe will keep you safe."

Catelyn had fixed her daughter with a look of confusion. "How do you mean?"

"A wife that cannot bear children is replaceable, is she not? Now Lord Tywin will not cast you aside… or worse."

Catelyn had grasped Sansa's hands tightly within her own, squeezing them reassuringly. "You needn't worry yourself about that, child."

After Tywin's admission in the rain, she now knew that it was more than duty that kept Tywin from casting her aside, as Sansa feared. She did not, however, think that Sansa would want to hear that. In truth, Catelyn was not sure that she even wanted to hear it. Ned still ruled her heart so wholly and she suspected that her second lord husband could see that written plainly across her face, despite his apparent feelings for her.

Catelyn inhaled slowly to keep the nausea at bay and focused instead on the proceedings. The last of the people seeking Tommen's - _or Tywin's_ \- ruling had left and the Hand stood to address the courtiers in attendance. She could not help but notice how much more kingly Tywin appeared than his grandson who currently sat cuddling two kittens whilst the third climbed over his shoulder and toppled into his lap.

"Following the recent events concerning Prince Oberyn and the subsequent dismissal of the Dornishmen from King's Landing—" Catelyn felt many eyes turn towards her at Tywin's words but she kept her focus upon him, looking merely politely interested. In truth, her mind was in a whirl; 'the subsequent _dismissal_ of the Dornishmen'? She had hoped that following her conversation with Tywin on the night of Prince Oberyn's assassination attempt he had taken heed of her advice and arrested the Dornish in the city but, as she had heard no more, she had feared the worst. _He let them go_ , a small, awestruck voice said. "—it is King Tommen's wish to have his sister, Princess Myrcella of House Baratheon return to King's Landing with her betrothed, Prince Trystane of House Martell, so he may take his father's seat upon the Small Council. Finally, the white raven has arrived from the Citadel, announcing that winter has truly come."

There was a murmur at this news. A woman sitting close to Catelyn and Sansa whispered to her neighbour that she had felt a certain chill in the air that morning; Sansa, born and bred in Winterfell where summer snows were not uncommon, rolled her eyes at her mother who smiled inwardly in response. The latter made no comment though because winter had arrived for Catelyn when Ser Illyn Payne struck Ned's head from his shoulders.

"We do not know how long this winter will last," Tywin continued, "we only know that a long winter follows a long summer."

 _And this summer has lasted ten years,_ Catelyn thought ominously. Robb, Sansa and Arya had been four, three and one years of age, respectively, when winter had transitioned into autumn and Catelyn's youngest two children had not yet been born. _Bran and Rickon lived and died all in summer_.

The session ended and Catelyn rose with Sansa, pausing momentarily and breathing evenly as another bout of sickness swept over her. Sansa was watching her carefully, concern etched across her face as Catelyn waited for the sickness to subside before casting a bright smile upon her daughter. They began to walk from the throne room when Margaery Tyrell's three cousins descended upon them.

"My ladies," Elinor Tyrell said, "Queen Margaery has asked us to invite you to join her in her apartments where you may enjoy refreshment and fine company."

Catelyn had not forgotten Tywin's suspicions of the Tyrell's, nor his warning to be cautious of them, but curiosity also made her willing to accept the proposal. They followed the cousins to Margaery's lavish chambers that held a reception room, a bedchamber and a large balcony overlooking Blackwater Bay. Gauzy material hung over the doorway that led to the balcony, billowing in the cool breeze and the room was hazy with smoke from burning incense.

The spicy scent turned Catelyn's stomach once more and burnt her nostrils. She breathed carefully through her mouth until accustomed to the overpowering fragrance. A table was heavily laden with sweet treats, wine and pots of tea which the cousins immediately descended upon. They poured each other a glass of arbor gold and sipped delicately as Lady Alerie Hightower entered from the balcony.

"Girls," Lady Alerie gently chastised, "where are your manners?" She turned to Catelyn and Sansa with an exaggerated sigh. "Forgive my nieces, my ladies; they forget themselves. Please, take a seat - I remember all too well how uncomfortable carrying a child can be."

Catelyn did as bid and seated herself in a plush chair by the fire, Brienne following her as the ever-faithful sworn sword. The cousins converged upon Sansa, inviting her to join them in gushing over Ser Tallad whilst Alla Tyrell turned a very pretty shade of pink. Catelyn noticed that Sansa did not join in with the girls as she once would have; the former could vividly remember Sansa and her friend, Jeyne Poole, regularly giggling over the fantastical Southron knights of their dreams. It appeared Sansa's love of knights was one more thing lost in King's Landing and Catelyn could not blame her: it had been knights of the Kingsguard who had beaten her under Joffrey's orders for his mere entertainment.

"Would you take some refreshment, my lady?" Lady Alerie offered, gesturing to the food and drink on the table.

The sight of the food turned Catelyn's stomach. "No, thank you. I am afraid that my stomach is feeling quite delicate today."

"Yes, you do look pale," Lady Alerie commented. Before Catelyn could answer, Lady Alerie was looking past her and clapping her hands together delightedly. "Oh, you look beautiful, sweetling."

Catelyn followed Lady Alerie's gaze to where Margaery had just stepped out of the bedchamber and into the reception room. The maiden of six and ten years wore a revealing dress of green silk with roses embroidered upon the material in goldthread. Her brown curls fell down her back in soft waves and a golden circlet rested on her brow. If Catelyn were honest, she did not know whether Margaery truly held the title of Queen of the Seven Kingdoms but it appeared the Tyrell's were not willing to dismiss their daughter's status easily.

Ever mindful of her manners, Catelyn rose and curtsied to Margaery with the rest of the women assembled - except Brienne who bowed. Lady Olenna followed Margaery from her chamber and Lady Alerie descended upon them, leaving the Lady Lannister alone with her sworn sword. Catelyn gestured towards the balcony. "Will you walk with me, Brienne? I believe some fresh air may do me good."

They crossed the room and passed through the sheer curtains, taking refuge on the balcony. Catelyn walked to the wall and rested her elbows upon the ledge, gratefully gulping in lungfuls of sea air. The sharp tang of salt settled her stomach and counteracted the stench of the polluted city below. Catelyn turned to Brienne and really studied the younger woman; her blue eyes, the only beautiful part of her, were bloodshot and watery as well as ringed with dark circles.

"When was the last time you slept, child?" Catelyn asked.

"I catch snatches of sleep here and there," Brienne shrugged nonchalantly. "I have a duty to perform and I cannot do that if I am sleeping."

"Brienne," Catelyn scolded, reaching out to place her hands on the Maid of Tarth's forearm. "I do not expect you to guard me day and night, sacrificing your own health and happiness. Tywin's household guard do a fine job of keeping Sansa and I safe: you are entitled to a break."

"And if something were to happen whilst I was taking a break?" Brienne asked. "My lady, I was guarding you the night Prince Oberyn decided to strike and you were very nearly murdered. If Tyrion had not—"

"Brienne of Tarth, you stop that trail of thought right there. You had no way of knowing that there was a secret passage anymore than Tywin or I. You cannot possibly hold yourself accountable for that, for I certainly do not," Catelyn said firmly. "As your mistress, I am hereby ordering you to take regular breaks and keep to a reasonable schedule with the household guards that allows you to sleep regularly, do you understand?"

Brienne hung her head. "Yes, my lady."

"Good," Catelyn said tartly. "And I will be checking, Lady Brienne, to ensure that you are doing as ordered." A sheepish grin split Brienne's face and Catelyn found herself smiling too, breaking the stern expression that she had usually reserved for Arya. "Come," Catelyn said, "we should return to the fray."

They returned to Margaery's reception room, finding the younger women engaged in a game of come-into-my-castle. Catelyn had lost count of the amount of squabbles she had had to mediate due to such games when the children were growing up in Winterfell but these maidens appeared to be behaving well and playing graciously. Catelyn joined Lady Alerie and Lady Olenna by the fire, Brienne shadowing her as ever. Once seated, Lady Olenna fixed her with a smile.

"How fares you, Lady Catelyn? I heard yours and Lord Tywin's news from Margaery," the Queen of Thorns said. "You husband must be most pleased."

"He seems happy," Catelyn said evasively, thinking of but not telling of the amount of times Tywin had pressed his hands to her belly that was just recently beginning to round.

"I was glad to learn that Prince Oberyn's nighttime visit did nothing to harm the babe," Lady Olenna pressed on. "You must have been terrified. I never have trusted those Dornish snakes, may the Seven judge them. I am certain you heard that it was Prince Oberyn who crippled our Willas."

"I heard that Willas's leg was crushed when he fell from his horse during a tourney," Catelyn answered.

"Yes but it was Prince Oberyn who unseated him and thus caused the accident," insisted Lady Olenna.

"Well, we should all be grateful to Lord Tyrion then; his quick-thinking saved my life and made it so Prince Oberyn cannot hurt another person."

"Yes, it is interesting that you should mention Lord Tyrion," Lady Alerie said. Catelyn tensed, wondering if she was about to be questioned about the timeline of events and how Tyrion had broken out of his cell. Instead, Lady Alerie surprised her by saying, "I hear that Tyrion has left the castle in search of a woman he married in youth."

Catelyn hesitated. "I did not know that," she admitted. "I seem to recall him saying that he needed to find someone but he did not specify who. I certainly never knew that he was previously married; how did you come by this information, if you do not mind me asking?"

"From a reliable source," Lady Olenna answered, taking control of the conversation. The wizened woman added, "From a friend."

"A friend of yours or a friend of mine?" Catelyn narrowed her eyes at the Queen of Thorns.

Lady Olenna smiled crookedly. "Petyr Baelish."

"Petyr is no friend of mine," Catelyn denied quickly.

"He tells a very different tale," Lady Olenna implied.

"You cannot believe everything Petyr says; I have learnt to my everlasting regret that most of what falls from his lips are lies." Catelyn realised that she was wringing her hands together so rested them in her lap, forcibly keeping them still. Despite her misgivings about Petyr's trustworthiness, she could not deny that Tyrion having another wife would explain his disappearance however it also created more questions, most of which only her husband could answer. "Why would Petyr be interested in Tyrion possibly searching for another wife?"

"Petyr Baelish knows how bitterly disappointed we all were when Lord Tywin foiled our plans to betroth Willas to Lady Sansa," Lady Olenna said. "It appears bigamy is only allowed if your a Targaryen; if Tyrion is still married to another woman and your daughter's maidenhead is truly still intact then our proposition to wed Sansa to Willas still stands."

Catelyn could not help but allow her gaze to cut towards Sansa who had relaxed and now laughed with Margaery and her three cousins as they continued to play together. Her daughter was blissfully unaware of the conversation concerning her and seemed almost childlike again.

"I could not just make this decision without first consulting my lord husband," Catelyn eventually said, returning her gaze to Lady Olenna, the true mastermind behind this scheme.

Catelyn saw Lady Olenna's faint look of disappointment before she masked it, reaching forward to take Catelyn's hand in her own and patting it reassuringly. "Of course," Lady Olenna said, "I merely thought that you would wish to secure the future of Eddard Stark's child before your new babe arrived."

Her words cut deep, finding the root of one of Catelyn's fears. She removed her hands gently from Lady Olenna's but when she spoke, her voice was steel. "I appreciate your concern, Lady Olenna, but any child of mine will always be welcome in my home and, to the best of my ability, protected - whether that is against my lord husband or outside forces."

Catelyn may have been born a trout but she was the mother of wolves and soon-to-be the mother of a lion; if Lady Olenna wished to learn what teeth and claws could do to a wilting rose, then Catelyn would easily show her.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Disclaimer:** The characters of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ do not belong to me however this story is of my own creation and should only be used when permission has been asked an given. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

 **Summary:** AU RW. "Do not underestimate what blind loyalty can inspire." The King in the North may be dead but Westeros still bleeds. Tywin Lannister knows that some burnt bridges may need rebuilding and Catelyn Stark is the key. Catelyn/Tywin.

 **Notes:** I have to apologise, _yet again_ , about the delay - the only excuse that I can really give is that I'm just so horrifically tired all the time at the moment and so it's making staring at a screen and writing a chapter difficult. I hope things can pick up soon.

I know that I've spoken about this 1:1 in review replies before but I just wanted to address something that seems to be cropping up regularly: This is a Catelyn/Tywin story and that is going to be the main focus. Don't get me wrong, I may throw in the occasional other pairing for variety (and I do not mind at all when people ask about that or make suggestions) but this story is 'CatWin'. Therefore, if you actively dislike either of these characters then I suggest choosing something else to read because leaving a review that just expresses your hatred for either/both of them is almost as bad as leaving a 'flame review'. There are potentially hundreds of different pairing combinations in ASoIaF so I would suggest that if this is not your cup of tea then you find something better suited to your tastes.

Moan over, thanks to everyone who's following this story for the right reasons. You guys rock - the first part of this chapter is for you and it's utterly shameless.

* * *

 **The Lion and the Lady Fair**

 **Chapter Seventeen**

When the last traces of Prince Oberyn's blood had been scrubbed from the floor tiles, Tywin and Catelyn returned to their bedchamber. A stonemason and his apprentice, hired from the city by Ulwyck, had blocked the three hidden doors so that the now-useless secret passage did not allow anyone to enter the Tower of the Hand. Catelyn had admittedly been pleased to return to the bedchamber, which had somehow become the more familiar _our bedchamber_ as opposed to merely Tywin's.

Catelyn now emerged from the bedchamber, plaiting the end of her hair and tying it off. Sansa had retired to bed long ago and Catelyn had followed, bathing before changing into her robe. She had expected Tywin to also withdraw from the solar but it appeared that he was too caught up with his duties. She watched him working now, the candlelight flickering over him as he bent over a piece of parchment and wrote in a diligent, strong hand. Catelyn had seen his penmanship and knew his writing to be precise and neat; _much like Ned's was_. Tywin barely looked up to dip his quill in the ink pot before beginning a new sentence and took even less notice of his wife.

Crossing the room, Catelyn only stopped when she was stood beside Tywin's chair, facing him and perched against the edge of the desk. "Are you planning on writing your correspondences all night?" she asked archly.

"I need to finish these so I can send them first thing tomorrow morning." He still did not look up, instead continuing to write. "Was there something you needed?"

"Well, that depends…" she trailed off and left the sentence hanging. Tywin glanced up as Catelyn let her robe slip from one pale shoulder, revealing that she wore nothing beneath. Finally letting the quill drop to the table, he sat back with amusement glittering in his eyes as he took in Catelyn's playful demeanour. Her eyes sparkled as she gave a nonchalant shrug. "I can see, however, that you are _extremely_ busy so it can wait."

She moved as though to push off from the desk but Tywin held out an arm to still her. "This is not a side to you that I have seen before."

"Well if you follow me into the bedchamber then you may see more sides of me," she said coyly.

"And if I prefer you here?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Catelyn's gave an amused scoff but it turned to surprise when she realised Tywin was not jesting. _Of course he is not jesting, when does Tywin jest?_ a snide voice asked. In truth, she had mostly hoped that she could entice him enough to forget work for one evening and eventually gain a decent nights rest. His words, however, caused a delicious flood of heat to pool in her stomach as she thought of the implications: there was something wickedly alluring about the prospect of getting caught. A single door stood between them and the Lannister guards in the hall. Biting her lower lip, Catelyn cast a glance at the door that led to Sansa's chamber as the same thought that had filled her with fire a moment ago became cold dread. An antechamber separated the solar from where her daughter slept but if she should wake… this was not something she ever wished one of her children to witness.

She turned back to Tywin and found that his eyes continued to pin her in place, a smouldering green. "Sansa may hear," she said reasonably.

"Then you will have to remain quiet," he said, unrelenting.

Catelyn cast another furtive glance at the door; was it that she did not want Sansa to catch her in the throes of passion with any man, or simply with this man? Her daughter knew that she and Tywin were intimate but she doubted her daughter truly understood what that meant for a man and woman. Tywin cut through her musings by shifting in his chair and Catelyn found herself trapped beneath his stare once more.

"Lose the robe," he commanded lowly.

Catelyn did not think, she merely acted. Without taking her gaze from his, she slowly undid the robe's knot and pulled the garment open before letting it pool at her feet. Naked as her nameday, she also tugged her plait free and deftly undid the strands until red hair fell in long waves down her shoulders and to her waist. The slightly rounder belly and fuller breasts with the pinker, distended nipples were the only indicators that she currently carried another child. Tywin's lust-filled gazed roamed over her hungrily.

Abruptly, he stood up and pinned her against the edge of the desk with his body, pressing his lips to hers. Despite her height, she still had to crane her neck backwards as she succumbed to his kiss, parting her lips to allow his tongue entry. Tywin's hands came up, cupping her breasts whilst his thumbs brushed over her swollen nipples and Catelyn whimpered at his touch. She pulled back and grasped the hem of his tunic, pulling it over his head before dropping the garment to the floor where it joined her robe.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Catelyn pushed herself further into his body as though moulding herself against him. Her breasts pushed against his chest and she gyrated her hips against his, seeking his warm mouth once more. Tywin's hands fisted in her auburn tresses, his lips slanting across her own. Even through the fabric of his breeches she could feel his cock stiffening and it sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. Tywin moved his mouth to her neck, the scratch of his whiskers soothed by the softness of his lips. All sense left Catelyn as she enjoyed the sensation of his open-mouthed, biting kisses down the column of her throat but the haze of pleasure soon lifted and she reached down to undo his breeches before slipping a hand inside, stroking him to full hardness with a few elongated pumps of her hand.

"Turn around," he growled.

Chest heaving and lips swollen, Catelyn did as commanded, turning around and pressing her palms into the surface of the desk. Tywin pushed his breeches down to his ankles and then grasped his cock in one hand, unable to stop himself from stroking it a few times whilst drinking in the sight of his wife; Catelyn was not bent over the table but there was still a slight curve to her back, giving him a pleasant view of the shapely curve of her buttocks. Her auburn curls fell down her back, a vivid contrast to the porcelain skin that made her fiery and vulnerable simultaneously. He rubbed his slick and already-weeping cock against her buttocks before pressing onwards to the warm entrance, filling her from behind with a groan.

Catelyn gave a soft cry at the first contact, her breath expelling sharply before she seemed to catch herself. He could easily imagine that she was biting her lip again, holding in the breathless moans of pleasure that usually parted her beautiful mouth. Gathering her curtain of hair in one hand, he threw it over her shoulder before attaching his lips to the nape of her neck whilst his hands took hold of her hips, angling each thrust. The penetration was shallow but accurate as Catelyn sheathed him in her warmth.

Letting go of her hips, one hand palmed her breast and tweaked the nipple between thumb and forefinger whilst the other parted her slick folds and found the throbbing bundle of nerves at the apex of her legs. Catelyn threw her head back and rested it against his shoulder, her face screwed up in pleasure as she swallowed the cries that threatened to escape. She lost herself in the rhythm of his body thrusting into her. Tywin tilted his head and placed his lips on her neck once more, softly sucking on her pulse point.

"Oh…" she breathed, her fingers clawing at the desk and her toes curling with pleasure as her climax hit. Tywin turned her face towards his, latching their lips together and muffling her sounds of pleasure. Once she had come down from her high, she leant forwards until her forearms rested on the table and allowed Tywin to rut into her, his fingers biting into her hips.

The parchments on the desk crumpled beneath Catelyn's arms and the half-filled ink pot that Tywin had been using spilled over the desk, leaving a dark stain down one side and on the tiles below but neither paid it much attention. Tywin ground his teeth hard to stop from making a sound as he thrust deep into Catelyn and then stilled, his balls tightening before his seed spurted into her.

Breathing hard, Tywin carefully pulled his now softening cock out of Catelyn and stooped to pull his breeches back up. He also retrieved Catelyn's robe and, when she turned to face him, wrapped it around her shoulders. Catelyn untucked her hair from the collar and knotted the robe at the waist once more. "That was…" she began, a blush rising up her neck.

"Different," he filled in.

"Yes, different."

* * *

Sometime later, Catelyn lay pillowed on Tywin's chest, sleepily satiated after a second coupling that had taken place in bed. Slow and lazy, they had taken their time before shuddering around each other. His fingers now skimmed down her spine, causing her to shiver, and she clung tighter to him. Her muscles ached in a pleasant way; a reminder of what they had shared.

"Is it true Tyrion was married before?" she asked into the darkness. Tywin made a noncommittal noise so she pressed on, "The Tyrell's seem to think he has gone to find his first wife."

"I do not know where Tyrion has gone," Tywin said stiffly.

"But you do not deny that he has another wife?"

There was a pregnant pause before Tywin sighed, "Where are you going with this, Catelyn?"

"Lady Olenna still wishes to marry Sansa to Willas," she said honestly.

"I thought we spoke of this already: the Tyrell's are looking for political power, nothing more. They do not care for Sansa _happiness_ but what she can give them."

"Winterfell," Catelyn breathed.

"Winterfell," he confirmed.

"You are correct: they may not care for her happiness but this could make her happy, regardless. If Tyrion is married to another then his marriage to Sansa is a sham; easily broken and forgotten. Sansa is still young and a maiden - she could marry well."

"Is the Imp of Casterly Rock not good enough for House Stark?" he asked stonily. "Tyrion was sixteen and foolish when he married a common girl from Lannisport but he soon learnt his lesson, as did she."

Catelyn shivered again but this time there was no pleasure in the feeling; a cold dread coiled in her stomach at Tywin's ruthless implication. She did not think that she wanted to know anymore about the lessons Tywin served to Tyrion and his common bride.

"If Tyrion truly has left to find his first wife then you must acknowledge what will happen if he finds her," Catelyn said. "You may think that only a fool would choose a commoner over a highborn girl but that does not explain why he would search for this other woman. I will not have my daughter humiliated and cast aside by the _Imp_."

The stress of the name left Tywin with no doubt of how Catelyn would react, should that happen. Admittedly, he could remember his anger and resentment each time Cersei was humiliated and spurned by Robert Baratheon when the late King chose a serving maid or whore to bed over his own queen. Tywin's feelings had been provoked out of a sense of injured pride - pride mixed with Catelyn's fierce love and protectiveness of her daughter could swell to something fearsome.

"Perhaps wedding Sansa to someone else is wise," Tywin conceded slowly, "but why Willas Tyrell?"

"Because..." Catelyn faltered and acknowledged that Tywin made a fair point. _Why Willas Tyrell?_

"That's the Tyrell's plan but what of our plan? Your daughter is beautiful, refined, from an old and somewhat foolish but noble family. There are a great many suitors potentially vying for her hand; is it not best to consider all possibilities?"

"Of course," Catelyn demurred. If she were honest, she only had considered Willas Tyrell because Lady Olenna had been so insistent. What of a Northern House or someone from the Riverlands? She added, "We would do well to keep our options open."

She settled back down into his embrace but Tywin found himself wondering: how much of Catelyn's seemingly insatiable sexual appetite this evening had been genuine and how much had been faked to catch him off-guard when she broached the topic of Sansa remarrying?

* * *

All day Catelyn had been unable to stand in the solar without a flush falling upon her cheeks as particularly vivid memories assaulted her, causing her to squirm. Breaking their fast that morning had been an interesting affair with Sansa casting her confused and concerned looks each time a blush coloured her face and Tywin's eyes holding a smirk that would not betray him by alighting his face.

Finally alone — Sansa was enjoying another high harp lesson with Lady Leonette whilst Tywin attended a Small Council meeting — Catelyn set about straightening the desk by smoothing out the parchments that had been wrinkled the previous evening. The spilt ink was a definitive stain that would serve as a constant reminder of what she and Tywin had shared. Sat in Tywin's chair, Catelyn pressed her palms into one sheet of parchment and firmly smoothed the letter out when a particular name caught her attention. Skimming the contents of the letter, Catelyn felt her heart skip a beat and horror fill her stomach with cold dread.

A sickness that had nothing to do with the babe she carried filled her.

Time passed slowly but Catelyn waited, patient and ashen-faced, for Tywin to return from performing his duties as Hand of the King. The sun moved across the room, burning into her back where she sat but she ignored it. Eventually, the door to their apartments opened and Tywin stepped into the solar. Her cold glare struck him as soon as he closed the door carefully behind him.

"Catelyn?" The concern etched upon his face broke the storm of cold fury within her.

"How dare you," she said, her voice low and deadly.

"What is it?"

She picked the parchment up, cleared her throat and said in a clear voice. "'As per our arrangement, it pleases me to announce that Ramsay of House Bolton and Arya of House Stark have been wedded, further strengthening my position as Warden of the North and rebuilding ties between these two noble…" she faltered, her breath coming in sharp gasps. _A man in dark armour and a pale pink cloak spotted with blood…_ She inhaled slowly before continuing hoarsely, "…these two noble houses. Wedded in Winterfell's Godswood, in sight of the Old Gods, they will preside as Lord and Lady of Winterfell. Signed, Roose Bolton.'"

"Catelyn…" Tywin ventured again.

"How could you?" she hurled at him, standing and pushing herself away from the desk. She moved towards the fire, wrapping thin arms around herself and Tywin vividly remembered their first encounter after the Red Wedding. He recalled how broken and small she had been with the odd glimpse of her fiery temper. It was a stark contrast to the woman she had been last night, willing and pliant in his arms. She whirled around to glare at him. "You let me believe she was _dead!_ "

"She is, Catelyn," Tywin said firmly, "or most likely is, at least. Arya Stark has not been seen since Eddard was arrested. The girl in the North, the one married to Ramsay Bolton, is an imposter. I believe you know her: Jeyne Poole, the daughter of your last husband's steward."

Catelyn eyed him suspiciously. "That does not make any sense. Why would Jeyne pose as Arya?"

"She probably thought she would have a better life; what girl would not want to become the Lady of Winterfell?"

She paused, remembering her youth. From the tender age of twelve, when the betrothal between herself and Brandon had been arranged, she had known that she would someday be the Lady of Winterfell. It had seemed such a fantastical idea, owning and running a castle by her own rights and being the wife to the Warden of the North.

"But when Lord Bolton realises..." Catelyn felt her stomach twist just saying the name.

"Roose Bolton and his Bastard are already aware that the girl is not Arya Stark. No one in the North remembers what your daughter looks like; only that she had dark hair, unlike her other siblings. Now the Northmen will ally themselves with the Bolton's because they believe there is an alliance between them and House Stark once more."

"There will never be an alliance between the Stark's and Bolton's," Catelyn spat.

She turned away from Tywin and stared into the depths of the fire. Arya had been ripped away from her once more; although she had shuddered to think what Bolton's Bastard could have done to her youngest daughter (she had been horrified to learn the reports of Lady Donella Hornwood's fate; a fate now reserved for Jeyne Poole), something had also flared in Catelyn. She had resolved herself to defy everyone and everything until nothing stood between herself and her daughter. Now Arya was lost once more.

"I wish to be left alone," she said hollowly. She half-expected Tywin to refuse, laying claim to his solar but instead he gave a small bow and retreated.

"My lady," he murmured before closing the door behind him. As soon as the lock clicked, Tywin heard the anguished cry of a she-wolf mourning the loss of her cubs.


End file.
